/7*APE  COD 
V9  STORIES 


JOSEPH  C.JJNCOLN 


o-o 


UNIT,  OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELE* 


CAPE  COD  STORIES 

OR 

THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 


Cape  Cod  Stories 


FORMERLY  PUBLISHED  UNDER  THE  TITLE  OF 
"THE  OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 


By  JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 

Author  of"  Mr.  Pratt,"  "Cap'n  Eri,"  "Partners  of  the 
Tide,"  "The  Depot  Master,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright  190  7  by 
S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY 
All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Two  PAIRS  OF  SHOES i 

THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER.     ...  29 

THE  SOUTH  SHORE  WEATHER  BUREAU       .  53 

THE  DOG  STAR 77 

THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR       ....  103 

THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR 125 

THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA  'ANKINS       .     .     .  155 

THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROSY 181 

THE  ANTIQUERS 209 

His  NATIVE  HEATH 233 

"JONESY" 26l 


2130923 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"SHE  JIBED — OH,  YES — SHE  JIBED"  Frontispiece 
WE  HOVE  IN  SIGHT  OF  DILLAMEAD  .  .  7 
HE  RARED  UP  ON  His  HANDS  ,  47 

IN  COMES  EBEN  AND  THE  WIDDER  ...  71 
"THEY'RE  EATING  HIM  ALIVE"  ....  97 
HE  PITCHED  HEAD  FIRST  INTO  THE  COCKPIT  113 

"HE    FAIRLY    SOBBED    WITH    DISAPPOINT 
MENT"    130 

"I  Pur  FOR  THE  WOODS" 170 

ROSY  TOOK  THE  QUEEN'S  PICTURE  .     .     .   195 

FRIENDS    HAD    A    CHANCE    TO   VIEW   THE 

REMAINS 219 

THAT  WAS  His  AFTERNOON'S  WORK      .     .  243 

INSIDE  OF  A  FORTNIGHT  HE  WAS  A  GONE 
GOOSE 285 


rii 


THE 
"OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 


THE   "OLD  HOME   HOUSE 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES 

I  don't  exactly  know  why  Cap'n  Jonadab  and 
me  went  to  the  post-office  that  night;  we  wa'n't 
expecting  any  mail,  that's  sartin.  I  guess  likely 
we  done  it  for  the  reason  the  feller  that  tumbled 
overboard  went  to  the  bottom — 'twas  the  handiest 
place  to  go. 

Anyway  we  was  there,  and  I  was  propping  up 
the  stove  with  my  feet  and  holding  down  a  chair 
with  the  rest  of  me,  when  Jonadab  heaves  along 
side  flying  distress  signals.  He  had  an  envelope 
in  his  starboard  mitten,  and,  coming  to  anchor 
with  a  flop  in  the  next  chair,  sets  shifting  the 
thing  from  one  hand  to  the  other  as  if  it  'twas 
red  hot. 

I  watched  this  performance  for  a  spell,  waiting 
for  him  to  say  something,  but  he  didn't,  so  I 
hailed,  kind  of  sarcastic,  and  says:  "What  you 


2          THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

doing — playing  solitaire  ?     Which  hand's  ahead  ?  " 

He  kind  of  woke  up  then,  and  passes  the 
envelope  over  to  me. 

"Barzilla,"  he  says,  "what  in  time  do  you 
s'pose  that  is  ?  " 

'Twas  a  queer  looking  envelope,  more'n  the 
average  length  fore  and  aft,  but  kind  of  scant  in 
the  beam.  There  was  a  puddle  of  red  sealing 
wax  on  the  back  of  it  with  a  "D"  in  the  middle, 
and  up  in  one  corner  was  a  kind  of  picture  thing 
in  colors,  with  some  printing  in  a  foreign  language 
underneath  it.  I  b'lieve  'twas  what  they  call  a 
"coat-of-arms,"  but  it  looked  more  like  a  patch 
work  comforter  than  it  did  like  any  coat  ever 
/  see.  The  envelope  was  addressed  to  "Captain 
Jonadab  Wixon,  Orham,  Mass." 

I  took  my  turn  at  twisting  the  thing  around, 
and  then  I  hands  it  back  to  Jonadab. 

"I  pass,"  I  says.     "Where'd  you  get  it?" 

'Twas  in   my  box,"   says   he.     "  Must  have 
come  in  to-night's  mail." 

I  didn't  know  the  mail  was  sorted,  but  when 
he  says  that  I  got  up  and  went  over  and  unlocked 
my  box,  just  to  show  that  I  hadn't  forgot  how, 
and  I  swan  to  man  if  there  wa'n't  another  envelope, 
just  like  Jonadab's,  except  that  'twas  addressed 
to  "Barzilla  Wingate." 
^  "Humph!"  says  I,  coming  back  to  the  stove; 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  3 

"you  ain't  the  only  one  that's  heard  from  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  Look  here!" 

He  was  the  most  surprised  man,  but  one,  on 
the  Cape:  I  was  the  one.  We  couldn't  make 
head  nor  tail  of  the  business,  and  set  there  com 
paring  the  envelopes,  and  wondering  who  on 
earth  had  sent  'em.  Pretty  soon  "Ily"  Tucker 
heads  over  towards  our  moorings,  and  says  he: 
"What's  troubling  the  ancient  mariners  ?  "  he  says. 

"Barzilla  and  me's  got  a  couple  of  letters," 
says  Cap'n  Jonadab;  "and  we  was  wondering 
who  they  was  from." 

Tucker  leaned  away  down — he's  always  suffer 
ing  from  a  rush  of  funniness  to  the  face — and  he 
whispers,  awful  solemn:  "For  heaven's  sake, 
whatever  you  do,  don't  open  'em.  You  might 
find  out."  Then  he  threw  off  his  main-hatch 
and  "haw-hawed"  like  a  loon. 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  we  hadn't  thought  of 
opening  'em — not  yet — so  that  was  kind  of  one 
on  us,  as  you  might  say.  But  Jonadab  ain't  so 
slow  but  he  can  catch  up  with  a  hearse  if  the 
horses  stop  to  drink,  and  he  comes  back  quick. 

"Ily,"  he  says,  looking  troubled,  "you  ought 
to  sew  reef-points  on  your  mouth.  'Tain't  safe 
to  open  the  whole  of  it  on  a  windy  night  like  this. 
First  thing  you  know  you'll  carry  away  the  top 
of  your  head." 


4          THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

Well,  we  felt  consider'ble  better  after  that — 
having  held  our  own  on  the  tack,  so  to  speak — 
and  we  walked  out  of  the  post-office  and  up  to 
my  room  in  the  Travellers'  Rest,  where  we  could 
be  alone.  Then  we  opened  up  the  envelopes, 
both  at  the  same  time.  Inside  of  each  of  'em 
was  another  envelope,  slick  and  smooth  as  a 
mack'rel's  back,  and  inside  of  that  was  a  letter, 
printed,  but  looking  like  the  kind  of  writing  that 
used  to  be  in  the  copybook  at  school.  It  said 
that  Ebenezer  Dillaway  begged  the  honor  of  our 
presence  at  the  marriage  of  his  daughter,  Belle, 
to  Peter  Theodosius  Brown,  at  Dillamead  House, 
Cashmere-on-the-Hudson,  February  three,  nine 
teen  hundred  and  so  forth. 

We  were  surprised,  of  course,  and  pleased  in 
one  way,  but  in  another  we  wa'n't  real  tickled  to 
death.  You  see,  'twas  a  good  while  sence  Jona- 
bad  and  me  had  been  to  a  wedding,  and  we  know 
there'd  be  mostly  young  folks  there  and  a  good 
many  big-bugs,  we  presumed  likely,  and  'twas 
going  to  cost  consider'ble  to  get  rigged — not  to 
mention  the  price  of  passage,  and  one  thing  a' 
'nother.  But  Ebenezer  had  took  the  trouble  to 
write  us,  and  so  we  felt  'twas  our  duty  not  to 
disappoint  him,  and  especially  Peter,  who  had 
done  so  much  for  us,  managing  the  Old  Home 
House. 


PAIRS  OF  SHOES  5 

The  Old  Home  House  was  our  summer  hotel 
at  Wellmouth  Port.  How  me  and  Jonadab 
come  to  be  in  the  summer  boarding  trade  is 
another  story  and  it's  too  long  to  tell  now.  We 
never  would  have  been  in  it,  anyway,  I  cal'late, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Peter.  He  made  a  howling 
success  of  our  first  season  and  likewise  helped 
himself  along  by  getting  engaged  to  the  star 
boarder,  rich  old  Dillaway's  daughter — Ebenezer 
Dillaway,  of  the  Consolidated  Cash  Stores. 

Well,  we  see  'twas  our  duty  to  go,  so  we  went. 
I  had  a  new  Sunday  cutaway  and  light  pants  to 
go  with  it,  so  I  figgered  that  I  was  pretty  well 
found,  but  Cap'n  Jonadab  had  to  pry  himself 
loose  from  considerable  money,  and  every  cent 
hurt  as  if  'twas  nailed  on.  Then  he  had  chil 
blains  that  winter,  and  all  the  way  over  in  the 
Fall  River  boat  he  was  fuming  about  them  chil 
blains,  and  adding  up  on  a  piece  of  paper  how 
much  cash  he'd  spent. 

We  struck  Cashmere-on-the-Hudson  about 
three  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  the 
wedding.  'Twas  a  little  country  kind  of  a  town, 
smaller  by  a  good  deal  than  Orham,  and  so  we 
cal'lated  that  perhaps  after  all,  the  affair  wouldn't 
be  so  everlasting  tony.  But  when  we  hove  in 
sight  of  Dillamead — Ebenezer's  place — we  short 
ened  sail  and  pretty  nigh  drew  out  of  the  race* 


6          THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

Twas  up  on  a  high  bank  over  the  river,  and  the 
house  itself  was  bigger  than  four  Old  Homes 
spliced  together.  It  had  a  fair-sized  township 
around  it  in  the  shape  of  land,  with  a  high  stone 
wall  for  trimming  on  the  edges.  There  was 
trees,  and  places  for  flower-beds  in  summer,  and 
the  land  knows  what.  We  see  right  off  that 
this  was  the  real  Cashmere-on-the-Hudson;  the 
village  folks  were  stranded  on  the  flats — old 
Dillaway  filled  the  whole  ship  channel. 

"Well,"  I  says  to  Jonadab,  "it  looks  to  me  as 
if  we  was  getting  out  of  soundings.  What  do 
you  say  to  coming  about  and  making  a  quick  run 
for  Orham  again  ?  " 

But  he  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  "S'pose  I've  spent 
all  that  money  on  duds  for  nothing  ?  "  he  says. 
"No,  sir,  by  thunder!  I  ain't  scared  of  Peter 
Brown,  nor  her  that's  going  to  be  his  wife;  and 
I  ain't  scared  of  Ebenezer  neither;  no  matter 
if  he  does  live  in  the  Manufacturers'  Building, 
with  two  or  three  thousand  fathom  of  front 
fence,"  he  says. 

Some  years  ago  Jonadab  got  reckless  and  went 
on  a  cut-rate  excursion  to  the  World's  Fair  out 
in  Chicago,  and  ever  sence  then  he's  been  com 
paring  things  with  the  "Manufacturers'  Build 
ing"  or  the  "Palace  of  Agriculture"  or  "Streets 
of  Cairo,"  or  some  other  outlandish  place. 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  7 

"All  right,"  says  I.  "Darn  the  torpedoes! 
Keep  her  as  she  is!  You  can  fire  when  ready, 
Gridley!" 

So  we  sot  sail  for  what  we  jedged  was  Ebenezer's 


WE  HOVE  IN  SIGHT  OF  DILLAMEAD. 

front-gate,  and  just  as  we  made  it,  a  man  comes 
whistling  round  the  bend  in  the  path,  and  I'm 
blessed    if   'twa'n't    Peter   T.    Brown.     He   was 
rittged  to  kill,  as  usual,  only  more  so. 
"Hello,  Peter!"  I  says.     "Here  we  be." 


8          THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

If  ever  a  feller  was  surprised,  Brown  was  that 
feller.  He  looked  like  he'd  struck  a  rock  where 
there  was  deep  water  on  the  chart. 

"Well,  I'll  be "  he  begun,  and  then  stopped. 

"What  in  the  "  he  commenced  again,  and 

again  his  breath  died  out.  Fin'lly  he  says:  "Is 
this  you,  or  had  I  better  quit  and  try  another  pipe  ?" 

We  told  him  'twas  us,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  wa'n't  nigh  so  tickled  as  he'd  ought  to  have 
been.  When  he  found  we'd  come  to  the  wedding, 
'count  of  Ebenezer  sending  us  word,  he  didn't 
say  nothing  for  a  minute  or  so. 

"Of  course,  we  had  to  come,"  says  Jonadab. 
"We  felt  'twouldn't  be  right  to  disapp'int  Mr. 
Dillaway." 

Peter  kind  of  twisted  his  mouth.  "That's 
so,"  he  says.  "It'll  be  worth  more'n  a  box  of 
diamonds  to  him.  Do  him  more  good  than 
joining  a  'don't  worry  club.'  Well,  come  on  up 
to  the  house  and  ease  his  mind." 

So  we  done  it,  and  Ebenezer  acted  even  more 
surprised  than  Peter. 

I  can't  tell  you  anything  about  that  house,  nor 
the  fixings  in  it;  it  beat  me  a  mile — that  house 
did.  We  had  a  room  somewheres  up  on  the 
hurricane  deck,  with  brass  bunks  and  plush 
carpets  and  crocheted  curtains  and  electric  lights. 
I  swan  there  was  looking  glasses  in  every  corner— 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  9 

big  ones,  man's  size.  I  remember  Cap'n  Jonadab 
hollering  to  me  that  night  when  he  was  getting 
ready  to  turn  in: 

"  For  the  land's  sake,  Barzilla!  "  says  he,  "  turn 
out  them  lights,  will  you  ?  I  ain't  over'n*  above 
bashful,  but  them  looking  glasses  make  me  feel's 
if  I  was  undressing  along  with  all  hands  and  the 


The  house  was  full  of  comp'ny,  and  more  kept 
coming  all  the  time.  Swells!  don't  talk!  We 
felt  'bout  as  much  at  home  as  a  cow  in  a  dory, 
but  we  was  there  'cause  Ebenezer  had  asked  us 
to  be  there,  so  we  kept  on  the  course  and  didn't 
signal  for  help.  Travelling  through  the  rooms 
down  stairs  where  the  folks  was,  was  a  good  deal 
like  dodging  icebergs  up  on  the  Banks,  but 
one  or  two  noticed  us  enough  to  dip  the  colors, 
and  one  was  real  sociable.  He  was  a  kind  of 
slow-spoken  city-feller,  dressed  as  if  his  clothes 
was  poured  over  him  hot  and  then  left  to  cool. 
His  last  name  had  a  splice  in  the  middle  of  it  — 
'twas  Catesby-Stuart.  Everybody  —  that  is,  most 
everybody  —  called  him  "  Phil." 

Well,  sir,  Phil  cottoned  to  Jonadab  and  me 
right  away.  He'd  get  us,  one  on  each  wing,  and 
go  through  that  house  asking  questions.  He 
pumped  me  and  Jonadab  dry  about  how  we 
come  to  be  there,  and  told  us  more  yarns  than  a 


io        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

few  'bout  Dillaway,  and  how  rich  he  was.  I 
remember  he  said  that  he  only  wished  he  had  the 
keys  to  the  cellar  so  he  could  show  us  the  money- 
bins.  Said  Ebenezer  was  so  just — well,  rotten 
with  money,  as  you  might  say,  that  he  kept  it  in 
bins  down  cellar,  same  as  poor  folks  kept  coal 
— gold  in  one  bin,  silver  half-dollars  in  another, 
quarters  in  another,  and  so  on.  When  he  needed 
any,  he'd  say  to  a  servant:  "James,  fetch  me  up 
a  hod  of  change."  This  was  only  one  of  the 
fish  yarns  he  told.  They  sounded  kind  of  scaly 
to  Jonadab  and  me,  but  if  we  hinted  at  such  a 
thing,  he'd  pull  himself  together  and  say:  "Fact, 
I  assure  you,"  in  a  way  to  freeze  your  vitals.  He 
seemed  like  such  a  good  feller  that  we  didn't 
mind  his  telling  a  few  big  ones;  we'd  known 
good  fellers  afore  that  liked  to  lie — gunners  and 
such  like,  they  were  mostly. 

Somehow  or  'nother  Phil  got  Cap'n  Jonadab 
talking  "boat,"  and  when  Jonadab  talks  "boat" 
there  ain't  no  stopping  him.  He's  the  smartest 
feller  in  a  cat-boat  that  ever  handled  a  tiller,  and 
he's  won  more  races  than  any  man  on  the  Cape, 
I  cal'late.  Phil  asked  him  and  me  if  we'd  ever 
saiiea  on  an  ice-boat,  and,  when  we  said  we 
hadn't  he  asks  if  we  won't  take  a  sail  with  him 
on  the  river  next  morning.  We  didn't  want  to 
put  him  to  so  much  trouble  on  our  account,  but 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  n 

he  said:  "Not  at  all.  Pleasure'll  be  all  mine, 
I  assure  you."  Well,  'twas  his  for  a  spell — but 
never  mind  that  now. 

He  introduced  us  to  quite  a  lot  of  the  comp'ny 
— men  mostly.  He'd  see  a  school  of  'em  in  a 
corner,  or  under  a  palm  tree  or  somewheres,  and 
steer  us  over  in  that  direction  and  make  us  known 
to  all  hands.  Then  he  begin  to  show  us  off,  so 
to  speak,  get  Jonadab  telling  'bout  the  boats  he'd 
sailed,  or  something  like  it — and  them  fellers 
would  laugh  and  holler,  but  Phil's  face  wouldn't 
shake  out  a  reef:  he  looked  solemn  as  a  fun'ral 
all  the  time.  Jonadab  and  me  begun  to  think 
we  was  making  a  great  hit.  Well,  we  was,  but 
not  the  way  we  thought.  I  remember  one  of 
the  gang  gets  Phil  to  one  side  after  a  talk  like 
this  and  whispers  to  him,  laughing  like  fun. 
Phil  says  to  him:  "My  dear  boy,  I've  been  to 

thousands  of  these  things "  waving  his  flipper 

scornful  around  the  premises — "and  upon  honor 
they've  all  been  alike.  Now  that  I've  discovered 
something  positively  original,  let  me  enjoy  myself. 
The  entertainment  by  the  Heavenly  Twins  is 
only  begun." 

I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  then;   I  do  now. 

The  marrying  was  done  about  eight  o'clock  and 
done  with  all  the  trimmings.  All  hands  manned 
the  yards  in  the  best  parlor,  and  Peter  and  Belle 


12        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

was  hitched.  Then  they  went  away  in  a  swell 
turnout — not  like  the  derelict  hacks  we'd  seen 
stranded  by  the  Cashmere  depot — and  Jonadab 
pretty  nigh  took  the  driver's  larboard  eai  off 
with  a  shoe  Phil  gave  him  to  heave  after  'em. 

After  the  wedding  the  folks  was  sitting  under 
the  palms  and  bushes  that  was  growing  in  tubs 
all  over  the  house,  and  the  stewards — there  was 
enough  of  'em  to  man  a  four-master — was  carting 
'round  punch  and  frozen  victuals.  Everybody 
was  togged  up  till  Jonadab  and  me,  in  our  new 
cutaways,  felt  like  a  couple  of  moulting  black 
birds  at  a  blue-jay  camp-meeting.  Ebenezer 
was  so  busy,  flying  'round  like  a  pullet  with  its 
head  off,  that  he'd  hardly  spoke  to  us  sence  we 
landed,  but  Phil  scarcely  ever  left  us,  so  we  wa'n't 
lonesome.  Pretty  soon  he  comes  back  from  a 
beat  into  the  next  room,  and  he  says: 

"There's  a  lady  here  that's  just  dying  to  know 
you  gentlemen.  Her  name's  Granby.  Tell  her 
all  about  the  Cape;  she'll  like  it.  And,  by  the 
way,  my  dear  feller,"  he  whispers  to  Jonadab 
"if  you  want  to  please  her — er — mightily,  con 
gratulate  her  upon  her  boy's  success  in  the  laundry 
business.  You  understand,"  he  says,  winking; 
"only  son  and  self-made  man,  don't  you  know." 

Mrs.  Granby  was  roosting  all  by  herself  on 
a  sofy  in  the  parlor.  She  was  fleshy,  but  terrible 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  13 

stiff  and  proud,  and  when  she  moved  the  diamonds 
on  her  shook  till  her  head  and  neck  looked  like 
one  of  them  "set  pieces"  at  the  Fourth  of  July 
fireworks.  She  was  deef,  too,  and  used  an  ear- 
trumpet  pretty  nigh  as  big  as  a  steamer's  ventilator. 

Maybe  she  was  "dying  to  know  us,"  but  she 
didn't  have  a  fit  trying  to  show  it.  Me  and 
Jonadab  felt  we'd  ought  to  be  sociable,  and  so  we 
set,  one  on  each  side  of  her  on  the  sofy,  and 
bellered :  "  How  d'ye  do  ? "  and  "  Fine  day, 
ain't  it  ? "  into  that  ear-trumpet.  She  didn't 
say  much,  but  she'd  couple  on  the  trumpet  and 
turn  to  whichever  one  of  us  had  hailed,  heeling 
over  to  that  side  as  if  her  ballast  had  shifted. 
She  acted  to  me  kind  of  uneasy,  but  everybody 
that  come  into  that  parlor — and  they  kept  piling 
in  all  the  time — looked  more'n  middling  joyful. 
They  kept  pretty  quiet,  too,  so  that  every  yell 
we  let  out  echoed,  as  you  might  say,  all  'round. 
I  begun  to  git  shaky  at  the  knees,  as  if  I  was 
preaching  to  a  big  congregation. 

After  a  spell,  Jonadab  not  being  able  to  think 
of  anything  more  to  say,  and  remembering  Phil's 
orders,  leans  over  and  whoops  into  the  trumpet. 

"I'm  real  glad  your  son  done  so  well  with  his 
laundry,"  he  says. 

Well,  sir,  Phil  had  give  us  to  understand  that 
them  congratulations  would  make  a  hit,  and  they 


14        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

done  it.  The  women  'round  the  room  turned 
red  and  some  of  'em  covered  their  mouths  with 
their  handkerchiefs.  The  men  looked  glad  and 
set  up  and  took  notice.  Ebenezer  wa'n't  in  the 
room — which  was  a  mercy — but  your  old  mess 
mate,  Catesby-Stuart,  looked  solemn  as  ever  and 
never  turned  a  hair. 

But  as  for  old  lady  Granby — whew!  She  got 
redder'n  she  was  afore,  which  was  a  miracle, 
pretty  nigh.  She  couldn't  speak  for  a  minute — 
just  cackled  like  a  hen.  Then  she  busts  out 
with:  "How  dare  you!"  and  flounces  out  of  that 
room  like  a  hurricane.  And  it  was  still  as  could 
be  for  a  minute,  and  then  two  or  three  of  the 
girls  begun  to  squeal  and  giggle  behind  their 
handkerchiefs. 

Jonadab  and  me  went  away,  too.  We  didn't 
flounce  any  to  speak  of.  I  guess  a  "sneak" 
would  come  nearer  to  telling  how  we  quit.  I  see 
the  cap'n  heading  for  the  stairs  and  I  fell  into  his 
wake.  Nobody  said  good-night,  and  we  didn't 
wait  to  give  'em  a  chance. 

'Course  we  knew  we'd  put  our  foot  in  it  some- 
wheres,  but  we  didn't  see  just  how.  Even  then 
we  wa'n't  really  onto  Phil's  game.  You  see, 
when  a  green  city  chap  comes  to  the  Old  Home 
House — and  the  land  knows  there's  freaks  enough 
do  come — we  always  try  to  make  things  pleasant 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  15 

for  him,  and  the  last  thing  we'd  think  of  was 
making  him  a  show  afore  folks.  So  we  couldn't 
b'lieve  even  now  'twas  done  a-purpose.  But 
we  was  suspicious,  a  little. 

"Barzilla,"  says  Jonadab,  getting  ready  to 
turn  in,  "  'tain't  possible  that  that  feller  with  the 
sprained  last  name  is  having  fun  with  us,  is  it  ? " 

"  Jonadab,"  says  I,  "I've  been  wondering  that 
myself." 

And  we  wondered  for  an  hour,  and  finally 
decided  to  wait  a  while  and  say  nothing  till  we 
could  ask  Ebenezer.  And  the  next  morning  one 
of  the  stewards  comes  up  to  our  room  with  some 
coffee  and  grub,  and  says  that  Mr.  Catesby- 
Stuart  requested  the  pleasure  of  our  comp'ny  on 
a  afore-breakfast  ice-boat  sail,  and  would  meet 
us  at  the  pier  in  half  an  hour.  They  didn't  have 
breakfast  at  Ebenezer's  till  pretty  close  to  dinner 
time,  eleven  o'clock,  so  we  had  time  enough  for 
quite  a  trip. 

Phil  and  the  ice-boat  met  us  on  time.  I  s'pose 
it  'twas  style,  but,  if  I  hadn't  known  I'd  have 
swore  he'd  run  short  of  duds  and  had  dressed  up 
in  the  bed-clothes.  I  felt  of  his  coat  when  he 
wa'n't  noticing,  and  if  it  wa'n't  made  out  of  a 
blanket  then  I  never  slept  under  one.  And  it 
made  me  think  of  my  granddad  to  see  what  he 
had  on  his  head — a  reg'lar  nightcap,  tassel  and  all. 


16        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

Phil  said  he  was  sorry  we  turned  in  so  early 
the  night  afore.  Said  he'd  planned  to  entertain 
us  all  the  evening.  We  didn't  hurrah  much  at 
this — being  suspicious,  as  I  said — and  he  changed 
the  subject  to  ice-boats. 

That  ice-boat  was  a  bird.  I  cal'lated  to  know 
a  boat  when  I  sighted  one,  but  a  flat-iron  on 
skates  was  something  bran-new.  I  didn't  think 
much  of  it,  and  I  could  see  that  Jonadab  didn't 
neither. 

But  in  about  three  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail  I 
was  ready  to  take  it  all  back  and  say  I  never 
said  it.  I  done  enough  praying  in  the  next  half 
hour  to  square  up  for  every  Friday  night  meeting 
I'd  missed  sence  I  was  a  boy.  Phil  got  sail  onto 
her,  and  we  moved  out  kind  of  slow. 

"Now,  then,"  says  he,  "we'll  take  a  little 
jaunt  up  the  river.  'Course  this  isn't  like  one 
of  your  Cape  Cod  cats,  but  still 

And  then  I  dug  my  finger  nails  into  the  deck 
and  commenced:  "Now  I  lay  me."  Talk  about 
going!  'Twas  "F-s-s-s-t!"  and  we  was  a  mile 
from  home.  "Bu-z-z-z!"  and  we  was  just  getting 
ready  to  climb  a  bank;  but  'fore  she  nosed  the 
shore  Phil  would  put  the  helm  over  and  we'd 
whirl  round  like  a  windmill,  with  me  and  Jonadab 
biting  the  planking,  and  hanging  on  for  dear  life, 
and  my  heart,  that  had  been  up  in  my  mouth 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  17 

knocking  the  soles  of  my  boots  off.  And  Cap'n 
Catesby-Stuart  would  grin,  and  drawl:  "'Course, 
this  ain't  like  a  Orham  cat-boat,  but  she  does 
fairly  well — er — fairly.  Now,  for  instance,  how 
dees  this  strike  you  ?" 

It  struck  us — I  don't  think  any  got  away.  I 
expected  every  minute  to  land  in  the  hereafter, 
and  it  got  so  that  the  prospect  looked  kind  of 
inviting,  if  only  to  get  somewheres  where  'twas 
warm.  That  February  wind  went  in  at  the  top 
of  my  stiff  hat  and  whizzed  out  through  the  legs 
of  my  thin  Sunday  pants  till  I  felt  for  all  the 
world  like  the  ventilating  pipe  on  an  ice-chest. 
I  could  see  why  Phil  was  wearing  the  bed-clothes; 
what  I  was  suffering  for  just  then  was  a  feather 
mattress  on  each  side  of  me. 

Well,  me  and  Jonadab  was  "it"  for  quite  a 
spell.  Phil  had  all  the  fun,  and  I  guess  he  enjoyed 
it.  If  he'd  stopped  right  then,  when  the  fishing 
was  good,  I  cal'late  he'd  have  fetched  port  with 
a  full  hold;  but  no,  he  had  to  rub  it  in,  so  to  speak, 
and  that's  where  he  slopped  over.  You  know 
how  'tis  when  you're  eating  mince-pie — it's  the 
"one  more  slice"  that  fetches  the  nightmare. 
Phil  stopped  to  get  that  slice. 

He  kept  whizzing  up  and  down  that  river  till 
Jonadab  and  me  kind  of  got  over  our  variousness. 
We  could  manage  to  get  along  without  spreading 


i8        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

out  like  porous  plasters,  and  could  set  up  for  a 
minute  or  so  on  a  stretch.  And  twa'n't  necessary 
for  us  to  hold  a  special  religious  service  every 
time  the  flat-iron  come  about.  Altogether,  we 
was  in  that  condition  where  the  doctor  might 
have  held  out  some  hopes. 

And,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  we  was  noticing  how 
Phil  was  sailing  that  three-cornered  sneak-box — 
noticing  and  criticising;  at  least,  I  was,  and  Cap'n 
Jonadab,  being,  as  I've  said,  the  best  skipper  of 
small  craft  from  Provincetown  to  Cohasset  Nar 
rows,  must  have  had  some  ideas  on  the  subject. 
Your  old  chum,  Catesby-Stuart,  thought  he  was 
mast-high  so  fur's  sailing  was  concerned,  any 
body  could  see  that,  but  he  had  something  to  larn. 
He  wasn't  beginning  to  get  out  all  there  was  in 
that  ice-boat.  And  just  then  along  comes  another 
feller  in  the  same  kind  of  hooker  and  gives  us  a 
hail.  There  was  two  other  chaps  on  the  boat 
with  him. 

"Hello,  Phil!"  he  yells,  rounding  his  flat-iron 
into  the  wind  abreast  of  ours  and  bobbing  his 
night-cap.  "I  hoped  you  might  be  out.  Are 
you  game  for  a  race  ? " 

"Archie,"  answers  our  skipper,  solemn  as  a 
setting  hen,  "permit  me  to  introduce  to  you 
Cap'n  Jonadab  Wixon  and  Admiral  Barzilla 
Wingate,  of  Orham,  on  the  Cape." 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  19 

I  wasn't  expecting  to  fly  an  admiral's  pennant 
quite  so  quick,  but  I  managed  to  shake  out 
through  my  teeth — they  was  chattering  like  a  box 
of  dice — that  I  was  glad  to  know  the  feller.  Jon- 
adab,  he  rattled  loose  something  similar. 

"The  Cap'n  and  the  Admiral,"  says  Phil, 
"having  sailed  the  raging  main  for  lo!  these  many 
years,  are  now  favoring  me  with  their  advice 
concerning  the  navigation  of  ice-yachts.  Archie, 
if  you're  willing  to  enter  against  such  a  handicap 
of  brains  and  barnacles,  I'll  race  you  on  a  beat  up 
to  the  point  yonder,  then  on  the  ten  mile  run 
afore  the  wind  to  the  buoy  opposite  the  Club, 
and  back  to  the  cove  by  Dillaway's.  And  we'll 
make  it  a  case  of  wine.  Is  it  a  go  ?  " 

Archie,  he  laughed  and  said  it  was,  and,  all 
at  once,  the  race  was  on. 

Now,  Phil  had  lied  when  he  said  we  was  "fav 
oring"  him  with  advice,  'cause  we  hadn't  said  a 
word;  but  that  beat  up  to  the  point  wa'n't  half 
over  afore  Jonadab  and  me  was  dying  to  tell  him 
a  few  things.  He  handled  that  boat  like  a  lobster. 
Archie  gained  on  every  tack  and  come  about  for 
the  run  a  full  minute  afore  us. 

And  on  that  run  afore  the  wind  'twas  worse 
than  ever.  The  way  Phil  see-sawed  that  piece 
of  pie  back  and  forth  over  the  river  was  a  sin  and 
shame.  He  could  have  slacked  off  his  mainsail 


20        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

and  headed  dead  for  the  buoy,  but  no,  he  jiggled 
around  like  an  old  woman  crossing  the  road  ahead 
of  a  funeral. 

Cap'n  Jonadab  was  on  edge.  Racing  was 
where  he  lived,  as  you  might  say,  and  he  fidgeted 
like  he  was  setting  on  a  pin-cushion.  By  and  by 
he  snaps  out: 

"Keep  her  off!  Keep  her  off  afore  the  wind! 
Can't  you  see  where  you're  going  ?  " 

Phil  looked  at  him  as  if  he  was  a  graven  image, 
and  all  the  answer  he  made  was;  "Be  calm, 
Barnacles,  be  calm!" 

But  pretty  soon  I  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  I  busts  out  with :  "  Keep  her  off,  Mr.  What's- 
your  name!  For  the  Lord's  sake,  keep  her  off  I 
He'll  beat  the  life  out  of  you!" 

And  all  the  good  that  done  was  for  me  to  get 
a  stare  that  was  colder  than  the  wind,  if  such  a 
thing's  possible. 

But  Jonadab  got  fidgetyer  every  minute,  and 
when  we  come  out  into  the  broadest  part  of  the 
river,  within  a  little  ways  of  the  buoy,  he  couldn't 
stand  it  no  longer. 

D 

"You're  spilling  half  the  wind!"  he  yells. 
"Pint*  her  for  the  buoy  or  else  you'll  be  licked  to 
death!  Jibe  her  so's  she  gits  it  full.  Jibe  her, 
you  lubber!  Don't  you  know  how?  Here!  let 
me  show  you!" 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  21 

And  the  next  thing  I  knew  he  fetched  a  hop 
like  a  frog,  shoved  Phil  out  of  the  way,  grabbed 
the  tiller,  and  jammed  it  over. 

She  jibed — oh,  yes,  she  jibed!  If  anybody 
says  she  didn't  you  send  'em  to  me.  I  give  you 
my  word  that  that  flat-iron  jibed  twice — once  for 
practice,  I  jedge,  and  then  for  business.  She 
commenced  by  twisting  and  squirming  like  an 
eel.  I  jest  had  sense  enough  to  clamp  my  mittens 
onto  the  little  brass  rail  by  the  stern  and  hold 
on;  then  she  jibed  the  second  time.  She  stood 
up  on  two  legs,  the  boom  come  over  with  a  slat 
that  pretty  nigh  took  the  mast  with  it,  and  the 
whole  shebang  whirled  around  as  if  it  had  forgot 
something.  I  have  a  foggy  kind  of  remembrance 
of  locking  my  mitten  clamps  fast  onto  that  rail 
while  the  rest  of  me  streamed  out  in  the  air  like 
a  burgee.  Next  thing  I  knew  we  was  scooting 
back  towards  Dillaway's,  with  the  sail  catching 
every  ounce  that  was  blowing.  Jonadab  was 
braced  across  the  tiller,  and  there,  behind  us,  was 
the  Honorable  Philip  Catesby-Stuart,  flat  on  his 
back,  with  his  blanket  legs  looking  like  a  pair  of 
compasses,  and  skimming  in  whirligigs  over  the 
slick  ice  towards  Albany.  He  hadn't  had  nothing 
to  hold  onto,  you  understand.  Well,  if  I  hadn't 
seen  it,  I  wouldn't  have  b'lieved  that  a  human 
being  could  spin  so  long  or  travel  so  fast  on  his 


22         THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

back.  His  legs  made  a  kind  of  smoky  circle 
in  the  air  over  him,  and  he'd  got  such  a  start  I 
thought  he'd  never  stop  a-going.  He  come  to  a 
place  where  some  snow  had  melted  in  the  sun  and 
there  was  a  pond,  as  you  might  say,  on  the  ice, 
and  he  went  through  that,  heaving  spray  like  one 
of  them  circular  lawn  sprinklers  the  summer 
folks  have.  He'd  have  been  as  pretty  as  a  foun 
tain,  if  we'd  had  time  to  stop  and  look  at  him. 

"For  the  land  sakes,  heave  to!"  I  yelled,  soon's 
I  could  get  my  breath.  "You've  spilled  the 
skipper!  " 

"Skipper  be  durned!"  howls  Jonadab,  squeez 
ing  the  tiller  and  keeping  on  the  course;  "We'll 
come  back  for  him  by  and  by.  It's  our  business 
to  win  this  race." 

And,  by  ginger!  we  did  win  it.  The  way 
Jonadab  coaxed  that  cocked  hat  on  runners 
over  the  ice  was  pretty — yes,  sir,  pretty!  He 
nipped  her  close  enough  to  the  wind'ard,  and  he 
took  advantage  of  every  single  chance.  He 
always  could  sail;  I'll  say  that  for  him.  We 
walked  up  on  Archie  like  he'd  set  down  to  rest, 
and  passed  him  afore  he  was  within  a  half  mile 
of  home.  We  run  up  abreast  of  Dillaway's, 
putting  on  all  the  fancy  frills  of  a  liner  coming  into 
port,  and  there  was  Ebenezer  and  a  whole  crowd 
of  wedding  company  down  by  the  landing. 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  23 

"Gosh!"  says  Jonadab,  tugging  at  his  whiskers: 
"'Twas  Cape  Cod  against  New  York  that  time, 
and  you  can't  beat  the  Cape  when  it  comes  to 
getting  over  water,  not  even  if  the  water's  froze. 
Hey,  Barzilla?" 

Ebenezer  came  hopping  over  the  ice  towards 
us.  He  looked  some  surprised. 

"Where's  Phil?"  he  says. 

Now,  I'd  clean  forgot  Phil  and  I  guess  Jonadab 
had,  by  the  way  he  colored  up. 

"Phil?"  says  he.  "Phil?  Oh,  yes!  We  left 
him  up  the  road  a  piece.  Maybe  we'd  better  go 
after  him  now." 

But  old  Dillaway  had  something  to  say. 

"Cap'n,"  he  says,  looking  round  to  make  sure 
none  of  the  comp'ny  was  follering  him  out  to  the 
ice-boat.  "I've  wanted  to  speak  to  you  afore, 
but  I  haven't  had  the  chance.  You  mustn't 
b'lieve  too  much  of  what  Mr.  Catesby-Stuart 
says,  nor  you  mustn't  always  do  just  what  he 
suggests.  You  see,"  he  says,  "he's  a  dreadful 
practical  joker." 

"Yes,"  says  Jonadab,  beginning  to  look  sick. 
I  didn't  say  nothing,  but  I  guess  I  looked  the 
same  way. 

"Yes,"  said  Ebenezer,  kind  of  uneasy  like; 
"Now,  in  that  matter  of  Mrs.  Granby.  I  s'posc 
Phil  put  you  up  to  asking  her  about  her  son's 


24        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

laundry.  Yes  ?  Well,  I  thought  so.  You  sec, 
the  fact  is,  her  boy  is  a  broker  down  in  Wall 
Street,  and  he's  been  caught  making  some  of 
what  they  call  'wash  sales'  of  stock.  It's  against 
the  rules  of  the  Exchange  to  do  that,  and  the 
papers  have  been  full  of  the  row.  You  can 
see,"  says  Dillaway,  "how  the  laundry  question 
kind  of  stirred  the  old  lady  up.  But,  Lord!  it 
must  have  been  funny,"  and  he  commenced  to  grin. 

I  looked  at  Jonadab,  and  he  looked  at  me.  I 
thought  of  Marm  Granby,  and  her  being  "dying 
to  know  us,"  and  I  thought  of  the  lies  about  the 
"hod  of  change"  and  all  the  rest,  and  I  give  you 
my  word  /  didn't  grin,  not  enough  to  show  my 
wisdom  teeth,  anyhow.  A  crack  in  the  ice  an 
inch  wide  would  have  held  me,  with  room  to 
spare;  I  know  that. 

"Hum!"  grunts  Jonadab,  kind  of  dry  and 
bitter,  as  if  he'd  been  taking  wormwood  tea;  "/ 
see.  He's  been  having  a  good  time  making  durn 
fools  out  of  us." 

"Well,"  says  Ebenezer,  "not  exactly  that, 
p'raps,  but " 

And  then  along  comes  Archie  and  his  crowd 
in  the  other  ice-boat. 

"Hi!"  he  yells.  "Who  sailed  that  boat  of 
yours  ?  He  knew  his  business  all  right.  I  never 
ww  anything  better.  Phil — why,  where  is  Phil  ?  " 


TWO  PAIRS  OF  SHOES  25 

I  answered  him.  "Phil  got  out  when  we 
jibed,"  I  says. 

"Was  that  Phil?"  he  hollers,  and  then  the 
three  of  'em  just  roared. 

"Oh,  by  Jove,  you  know!"  says  Archie,  "that's 
the  funniest  thing  I  ever  saw.  And  on  Phil,  too! 
He'll  never  hear  the  last  of  it  at  the  club — hey, 
boys  ?  "  And  then  they  just  bellered  and  laughed 
again. 

When  they'd  gone,  Jonadab  turned  to  Ebenezer 
and  he  says:  "That  taking  us  out  on  this  boat 
was  another  case  of  having  fun  with  the  country 
men.  Hey  ?  " 

"I  guess  so,"  says  Dillaway.  "I  b'lieve  he 
told  one  of  the  guests  that  he  was  going  to  put 
Cape  Cod  on  ice  this  morning." 

I  looked  away  up  the  river  where  a  little  black 
speck  was  just  getting  to  shore.  And  I  thought 
of  how  chilly  the  wind  was  out  there,  and  how 
that  ice-water  must  have  felt,  and  what  a  long 
ways  'twas  from  home.  And  then  I  smiled,  slow 
and  wide;  there  was  a  barge  load  of  joy  in  every 
half  inch  of  that  smile. 

"It's  a  cold  day  when  Phil  loses  a  chance  for 
a  joke,"  says  Ebenezer. 

r  'Tain't  exactly  what  you'd  call  summery 
just  now,"  I  says.  And  we  hauled  down  sail, 
run  the  ice-boat  up  to  the  wharf,  and  went  up  to 


*6        r HE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

our  room  to  pack  our  extension  cases  for  the 
next  train. 

"You  see,"  says  Jonadab,  putting  in  his  other 
shirt,  "it's  easy  enough  to  get  the  best  of  Cape 
folks  on  wash  sales  and  lying,  but  when  it  comes 
to  boats  that's  a  different  pair  of  shoes." 

**I  guess  Phil'll  agree  with  you,"  I  says. 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER 

The  way  we  got  into  the  hotel  business  in  the 
first  place  come  around  like  this:  Me  and  Cap'n 
Jonadab  went  down  to  Wellmouth  Port  one  day 
'long  in  March  to  look  at  some  property  he'd 
had  left  him.  Jonadab's  Aunt  Sophrony  had 
moved  kind  of  sudden  from  that  village  to  Beulah 
Land — they're  a  good  ways  apart,  too — and  Cap'n 
Jonadab  had  come  in  for  the  old  farm,  he  being 
the  only  near  relative. 

When  you  go  to  Wellmouth  Port  you  get  off 
the  cars  at  Wellmouth  Center  and  then  take 
Labe  Bearse's  barge  and  ride  four  miles;  and 
then,  if  the  horse  don't  take  a  notion  to  lay  down 
in  the  road  and  go  to  sleep,  or  a  wheel  don't 
come  off  or  some  other  surprise  party  ain't  sprung 
on  you,  you  come  to  a  place  where  there's  a  Bap 
tist  chapel  that  needs  painting,  and  a  little  two- 
for-a-cent  store  that  needs  trade,  and  two  or 
three  houses  that  need  building  over,  and  any 
Lord's  quantity  of  scrub  pines  and  beach  grass 
and  sand.  Then  you  take  Labe's  word  for  it 

29 


30        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

that  you've  got  to  Wellmouth  Port  and  get  out 
of  the  barge  and  try  to  remember  you're  a  church 
member. 

Well,  Aunt  Sophrony's  house  was  a  mile  or 
more  from  the  place  where  the  barge  stopped, 
and  Jonadab  and  me,  we  hoofed  it  up  there.  We 
bought  some  cheese  and  crackers  and  canned 
things  at  the  store,  'cause  we  expected  to  stay 
overnight  in  the  house,  and  knew  there  wasn't 
no  other  way  of  getting  provender. 

We  got  there  after  a  spell  and  set  down  on  the 
big  piazza  with  our  souls  full  of  gratitude  and 
our  boots  full  of  sand.  Great,  big,  old-fashioned 
house  with  fourteen  big  bedrooms  in  it,  big  barn, 
sheds,  and  one  thing  or  'nother,  and  perched 
right  on  top  of  a  hill  with  five  or  six  acres  of 
ground  'round  it.  And  how  the  March  wind 
did  whoop  in  off  the  sea  and  howl  and  screech 
lonesomeness  through  the  pine  trees!  You  take 
it  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  the  shutters 
rattling  and  the  old  joists  a-creaking  and  Jona 
dab  snoring  like  a  chap  sawing  hollow  logs,  and 
if  it  wan't  joy  then  my  name  ain't  Barzilla  Win- 
gate.  I  don't  wonder  Aunt  Sophrony  died.  I'd 
have  died  'long  afore  she  did  if  I  knew  I  was 
checked  plumb  through  to  perdition.  There'd 
be  some  company  where  I  was  going,  anyhow. 

The  next  morning  after  ballasting  up  with  the 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  31 

truck  we'd  bought  at  the  store — the  feller  'most 
keeled  over  when  he  found  we  was  going  to  pay 
cash  for  it — we  went  out  on  the  piazza  again, 
and  looked  at  the  breakers  and  the  pine  trees 
and  the  sand,  and  held  our  hats  on  with  both 
hands. 

"  Jonadab,"  says  I,  "what'll  you  take  for  your 
heirloom  ?" 

"Well,"  he  says,  "Barzilla,  the  way  I  feel  now, 
I  think  I'd  take  a  return  ticket  to  Orham  and  be 
afraid  of  being  took  up  for  swindling  at  that." 

Neither  of  us  says  nothing  more  for  a  spell, 
and,  first  thing  you  know,  we  heard  a  carriage 
rattling  somewhere  up  the  road.  I  was  ship 
wrecked  once  and  spent  two  days  in  a  boat  look 
ing  for  a  sail.  When  I  heard  that  rattling  I  felt 
just  the  way  I  done  when  I  sighted  the  ship  that 
picked  us  up. 

"Judas!"  says  Jonadab,  "there's  somebody 
coming!" 

We  jumped  out  of  our  chairs  and  put  for  the 
corner  of  the  house.  There  was  somebody  com 
ing — a  feller  in  a  buggy,  and  he  hitched  his  horse 
to  the  front  fence  and  come  whistling  up  the 
walk. 

He  was  a  tall  chap,  with  a  smooth  face,  kind 
of  sharp  and  knowing,  and  with  a  stiff  hat  set 
just  a  little  on  one  side.  His  clothes  was  new 


32         THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

and  about  a  week  ahead  of  up-to-date,  his  shoes 
shined  till  they  lit  up  the  lower  half  of  his  legs, 
and  his  pants  was  creased  so's  you  could  mow 
with  'em.  Cool  and  slick!  Say!  in  the  middle 
of  that  deadliness  and  compared  to  Jonadab 
and  me,  he  looked  like  a  bird  of  Paradise  in 
a  coop  of  moulting  pullets. 

"Cap'n  Wixon  ?"  he  says  to  me,  sticking  out 
a  gloved  flipper. 

"Not  guilty,"  says  I.  "There's  the  skipper. 
My  name's  Wingate." 

"Glad  to  have  the  pleasure,  Mr.  Wingate," 
he  says.  "Cap'n  Wixon,  yours  truly." 

We  shook  hands,  and  he  took  each  of  us  by 
the  arm  and  piloted  us  back  to  the  piazza,  like 
a  tug  with  a  couple  of  coal  barges.  He  pulled 
up  a  chair,  crossed  his  legs  on  the  rail,  reached 
into  the  for'ard  hatch  of  his  coat  and  brought 
out  a  cigar  case. 

"Smoke  up,"  he  says.  We  done  it — I  holding 
my  hat  to  shut  ofF  the  wind,  while  Jonadab  used 
up  two  cards  of  matches  getting  the  first  light. 
When  we  got  the  cigars  to  going  finally,  the  feller 
says: 

"  My  name's  Brown — Peter  T.  Brown.  I  read 
about  your  falling  heir  to  this  estate,  Cap'n  Wixon, 
in  a  New  Bedford  paper.  I  happened  to  be  in 
New  Bedford  then,  representing  the  John  B. 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  33 

Wilkins  Unparalleled  All  Star  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  and  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-room  Company. 
It  isn't  my  reg'lar  line,  the  show  bus'ness,  but  it 
produced  the  necessary  'ham  and*  every  day 
and  the  excelsior  sleep  inviter  every  night,  so — • 
but  never  mind  that.  Soon  as  I  read  the  paper 
I  came  right  down  to  look  at  the  property.  Hav 
ing  rubbered,  back  I  go  to  Orham  to  see  you. 
Your  handsome  and  talented  daughter  says  you 
are  over  here.  That'll  be  about  all — here  I  am. 
Now,  then,  listen  to  this." 

He  went  under  his  hatches  again,  rousted  out 
a  sheet  of  paper,  unfolded  it  and  read  something 
like  this — I  know  it  by  heart: 

"The  great  sea  leaps  and  splashes  before  you 
as  it  leaped  and  splashed  in  the  old  boyhood  days. 
The  sea  wind  sings  to  you  as  it  sang  of  old.  The 
old  dreams  come  back  to  you,  the  dreams  you 
dreamed  as  you  slumbered  upon  the  cornhusk 
mattress  in  the  clean,  sweet  little  chamber  of  the 
old  home.  Forgotten  are  the  cares  of  busi 
ness,  the  scramble  for  money,  the  ruthless  hunt 
for  fame.  Here  are  perfect  rest  and  perfect 
peace." 

"Now  what  place  would  you  say  I  was  describ 
ing  ?  "  says  the  feller. 

"  Heaven,"  says  Jonadab,  looking  up,  reverent 
like. 


34        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

You  never  see  a  body  more  disgusted  than 
Brown. 

"Get  out!"  he  snaps.  "Do  I  look  like  the 
advance  agent  of  Glory  ?  Listen  to  this  one." 

He  unfurls  another  sheet  of  paper,  and  goes 
off  on  a  tack  about  like  this: 

"The  old  home!  You  who  sit  in  your  luxuri 
ous  apartments,  attended  by  your  liveried  ser 
vants,  eating  the  costly  dishes  that  bring  you 
dyspepsia  and  kindred  evils,  what  would  you 
give  to  go  back  once  more  to  the  simple,  cleanly 
living  of  the  old  house  in  the  country  ?  The  old 
home,  where  the  nights  were  cool  and  refresh 
ing,  the  sleep  deep  and  sound;  where  the  huckle 
berry  pies  that  mother  fashioned  were  swimming 
in  fragrant  juice,  where  the  shells  of  the  clams 
for  the  chowder  were  snow  white  and  the  chow 
der  itself  a  triumph;  where  there  were  no  voices 
but  those  of  the  wind  and  sea;  no " 

"Don't!"  busts  out  Jonadab.  "Don't!  I  can't 
stand  it!" 

He  was  mopping  his  eyes  with  his  red  ban- 
danner.  I  was  consider'ble  shook  up  myself. 
The  dear  land  knows  we  was  more  used  to  huckle 
berry  pies  and  clam  chowder  than  we  was  to 
liveried  servants  and  costly  dishes,  but  there  was 
something  in  the  way  that  feller  read  off  that 
slush  that  just  worked  the  pump  handle.  A  hog 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  M4N4GER  35 

would   have  cried;    I    know  7  couldn't  help   it. 

As  for  Peter  T.  Brown,  he  fairly  crowed. 

"It  gets  you!"  he  says.  "I  knew  it  would. 
And  it'll  get  a  heap  of  others,  too.  Well, 
we  can't  send  'em  back  to  the  old  home, 
but  we  can  trot  the  old  home  to  them,  or  a 
mighty  good  imitation  of  it.  Here  it  is;  right 
here!" 

And  he  waves  his  hand  up  toward  Aunt  So- 
phrony's  cast-off  palace. 

Cap'n  Jonadab  set  up  straight  and  sputtered 
like  a  firecracker.  A  man  hates  to  be  fooled. 

"Old  home!"  he  snorts.  "Old  county  jail, 
you  mean!" 

And  then  that  Brown  feller  took  his  feet  down 
off  the  rail,  hitched  his  chair  right  in  front  of 
Jonadab  and  me  and  commenced  to  talk.  And 
how  he  did  talk!  Say,  he  could  talk  a  Hyannis 
fisherman  into  a  missionary.  I  wish  I  could 
remember  all  he  said;  'twould  make  a  book  as 
big  as  a  dictionary,  but  'twould  be  worth  the 
trouble  of  writing  it  down.  'Fore  he  got  through 
he  talked  a  thousand  dollars  out  of  Cap'n  Jona 
dab,  and  it  takes  a  pretty  hefty  lecture  to  squeeze 
a  quarter  out  of  him.  To  make  a  long  yarn 
short,  this  was  his  plan: 

He  proposed  to  turn  Aunt  Sophrony's  wind 
plantation  into  a  hotel  for  summer  boarders. 


36        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

And  it  wan't  going  to  be  any  worn-out,  regula 
tion  kind  of  a  summer  hotel  neither. 

"Confound  it,  man!"  he  says,  "they're  sick 
of  hot  and  cold  water,  elevators,  bell  wires  with 
a  nigger  on  the  end,  and  all  that.  There's  a 
raft  of  old  codgers  that  call  themselves  'self- 
made  men* — meanin'  that  the  Creator  won't 
own  'em,  and  they  take  the  responsibility  them 
selves — that  are  always  wishing  they  could  go 
somewheres  like  the  shacks  where  they  lived 
when  they  were  kids.  They're  always  talking 
about  it,  and  wishing  they  could  go  to  the  old 
home  and  rest.  Rest!  Why,  say,  there's  as 
much  rest  to  this  place  as  there  is  sand,  and  there's 
enough  of  that  to  scour  all  the  knives  in  creation." 

"But  'twill  cost  so  like  the  dickens  to  furnish 
it,"  I  says. 

"Furnish  it!"  says  he.  "Why,  that's  just  it! 
It  won't  cost  nothing  to  furnish  it — nothing  to 
speak  of.  I  went  through  the  house  day  before 
yesterday — crawled  in  the  kitchen  window — oh! 
it's  all  right,  you  can  count  the  spoons — and 
there's  eight  of  those  bedrooms  furnished  just 
right,  corded  bedsteads,  painted  bureaus  with 
glass  knobs,  'God  Bless  Our  Home'  and  Uncle 
Jeremiah's  coffin  plate  on  the  wall,  rag  mats  on 
the  floor,  and  all  the  rest.  All  she  needs  is  a 
little  more  of  the  same  stuff,  that  I  can  buy  'round 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  37 

here  for  n^xt  ..o  nothing — I  used  to  buy  for  an 
auction  room — and  a  little  paint  and  fixings,  and 
there  she  :s.  All  I  want  from  you  folks  is  a  little 
money— -I'll  chuck  in  two  hundred  and  fifty  my 
self — and  you  two  can  be  proprietors  and  treas 
urers  if  you  want  to.  But  active  manager  and 
publicity  man — that's  yours  cheerily,  Peter  Theo- 
dosius  Brown!"  And  he  slapped  his  plaid  vest. 

Well,  he  talked  all  the  forenoon  and  all  the 
way  to  Orham  on  the  train  and  most  of  that 
night.  And  when  he  heaved  anchor,  Jonadab 
had  agreed  to  put  up  a  thousand  and  I  was  in 
for  five  hundred  and  Peter  contributed  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  and  experience  and  nerve.  And 
the  "Old  Home  House"  was  off  the  ways. 

And  by  the  first  of  May  'twas  open  and  ready 
for  business,  too.  You  never  see  such  a  driver 
as  that  feller  Brown  was.  He  had  a  new  wide 
piazza  built  all  'round  the  main  buildings,  painted 
everything  up  fine,  hired  the  three  best  women 
cooks  in  Wellmouth — and  there's  some  good 
cooks  on  Cape  Cod,  too — and  a  half  dozen  cham 
ber  girls  and  waiters.  He  had  some  trouble 
getting  corded  beds  and  old  bureaus  for  the  empty 
rooms,  but  he  got  'em  finally.  He  bought  the 
last  bed  of  Beriah  Burgess,  up  at  East  Harniss, 
and  had  quite  a  dicker  getting  it. 

"He  thought  he  ought  to  get  five  dollars  for 


38        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

it,"  says  Brown,  telling  Jonadab  ind  me  about 
it.  "Said  he  hated  to  part  with  it  because  his 
grandmother  died  in  it.  I  told  him  I  cculdn't  see 
any  good  reason  why  I  should  pay  more  for  a  bed 
just  because  it  had  killed  his  grandmother,  so 
we  split  up  and  called  it  three  dollars.  'Twas 
too  much  money,  but  we  had  to  have  it." 

And  the  advertisements!  They  was  sent  every- 
wheres.  Lots  of  'em  was  what  Peter  called 
"reading  notices,"  and  them  he  mostly  got  for 
nothing,  for  he  could  talk  an  editor  foolish  same 
as  he  could  anybody  else.  By  the  middle  of 
April  most  of  our  money  was  gone,  but  every 
room  in  the  house  was  let  and  we  had  applica 
tions  coming  by  the  pailful. 

And  the  folks  that  come  had  money,  too — they 
had  to  have  to  pay  Brown's  rates.  I  always  felt 
like  a  robber  or  a  Standard  Oil  director  every 
time  I  looked  at  the  books.  The  most  of  'em 
fcras  rich  folks — self-made  men,  just  like  Peter 
prophesied — and  they  brought  their  wives  and 
daughters  and  slept  on  cornhusks  and  eat  chow 
der  and  said  'twas  great  and  just  like  old  times. 
And  they  got  the  rest  we  advertised;  we  didn't 
cheat  'em  on  rest.  By  ten  o'clock  pretty  nigh  all 
hands  was  abed,  and  'twas  so  still  all  you  could  hear 
fcras  the  breakers  or  the  wind,  or  p'raps  a  groan 
coming  from  a  window  where  some  boarder  had 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  39 

turned  over  in  his  sleep  and  a  corncob  in  the  mat 
tress  had  raked  him  crossways. 

There  was  one  old  chap  that  we'll  call  Dilla- 
way — Ebenezer  Dillaway.  That  wan't  his  name; 
his  real  one's  too  well  known  to  tell.  He  runs 
the  "Dillaway  Combination  Stores"  that  are 
all  over  the  country.  In  them  stores  you  can 
buy  anything  and  buy  it  cheap — cheapness  is 
Ebenezer's  stronghold  and  job  lots  is  his  sheet 
anchor.  He'll  sell  you  a  mowing  machine  and 
the  grass  seed  to  grow  the  hay  to  cut  with  it. 
He'll  sell  you  a  suit  of  clothes  for  two  dollars 
and  a  quarter,  and  for  ten  cents  more  he'll  sell 
you  glue  enough  to  stick  it  together  again  after 
you've  worn  it  out  in  the  rain.  He'll  sell  you 
anything,  and  he's  got  cash  enough  to  sink  a 
ship. 

He  come  to  the  "Old  Home  House"  with  his 
daughter,  and  he  took  to  the  place  right  away. 
Said  'twas  for  all  the  world  like  where  he  used 
to  live  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  liked  the  grub 
and  he  liked  the  cornhusks  and  he  liked  Brown. 
Brown  had  a  way  of  stealing  a  thing  and  yet 
paying  enough  for  it  to  square  the  law — that  hit 
Ebenezer  where  he  lived. 

His  daughter  liked  Brown,  too,  and  'twas  easy 
enough  to  see  that  Brown  liked  her.  She  was 
a  mighty  pretty  girl,  the  kind  Peter  called  a 


40        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

"queen,"  and  the  active  manager  took  to  her 
like  a  cat  to  a  fish.  They  was  together  more'n 
half  the  time,  gitting  up  sailing  parties,  or  play 
ing  croquet,  or  setting  up  on  the  "Lover's  Nest," 
which  was  a  kind  of  slab  summer-house  Brown 
had  rigged  up  on  the  bluff  where  Aunt  Sophrony's 
pig-pens  used  to  be  in  the  old  days. 

Me  and  Jonadab  see  how  things  was  going, 
and  we'd  look  at  one  another  and  wink  and  shake 
our  heads  when  the  pair'd  go  by  together.  But 
all  that  was  afore  the  count  come  aboard. 

We  got  our  first  letter  from  the  count  about 
the  third  of  June.  The  writing  was  all  over 
the  plate  like  a  biled  dinner,  and  the  English 
looked  like  it  had  been  shook  up  in  a  bag,  but 
it  was  signed  with  a  nine  fathom,  toggle-jinted 
name  that  would  give  a  pollparrot  the  lockjaw, 
and  had  the  word  "  Count"  on  the  bow  of  it. 

You  never  see  a  feller  happier  than  Peter  T. 
Brown. 

"  Can  he  have  rooms  ?  "  says  Peter.  "  Can 
he  ?  Well,  I  should  rise  to  elocute !  He  can 
have  the  best  there  is  if  yours  truly  has  to  bunk 
in  the  coop  with  the  gladsome  Plymouth  Rock. 
That's  what!  He  says  he's  a  count  and  he'll 
be  advertised  as  a  count  from  this  place  to  where 
rolls  the  Oregon." 

And  he  was,  too,     The  papers  was  full  of  how 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  41 

Count  What's-his-Name  was  hanging  out  at  the 
"Old  Home  House,"  and  we  got  more  letters 
from  rich  old  women  and  pork-pickling  money 
bags  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at.  If  you 
want  to  catch  the  free  and  equal  nabob  of  a  glori 
ous  republic,  bait  up  with  a  little  nobility  and 
you'll  have  your  salt  wet  in  no  time.  We  had 
to  rig  up  rooms  in  the  carriage  house,  and  me  and 
Jonadab  slept  in  the  haymow. 

The  count  himself  hove  in  sight  on  June  fif 
teenth.  He  was  a  little,  smoked  Italian  man  with 
a  pair  of  legs  that  would  have  been  carried  away 
in  a  gale,  and  a  black  mustache  with  waxed  ends 
that  you'd  think  would  punch  holes  in  the  pillow 
case.  His  talk  was  like  his  writing,  only  worse, 
but  from  the  time  his  big  trunk  with  the  foreign 
labels  was  carried  upstairs,  he  was  skipper  and 
all  hands  of  the  "  Old  Home  House." 

And  the  funny  part  of  it  was  that  old  man 
Dillaway  was  as  much  gone  on  him  as  the  rest. 
For  a  self-made  American  article  he  was  the 
worst  gone  on  this  machine-made  importation 
that  ever  you  see.  I  s'pose  when  you've  got  more 
money  than  you  can  spend  for  straight  goods 
you  nat'rally  go  in  for  buying  curiosities;  I 
can't  see  no  other  reason. 

Anyway,  from  the  minute  the  count  come  over 
the  side  it  was  "  Good-by,  Peter."  The  foreigner 


42        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

was  first  oar  with  the  old  man  and  general  con 
sort  for  the  daughter.  Whenever  there  was  a 
sailing  trip  on  or  a  spell  of  roosting  in  the  Lover's 
Nest,  Ebenezer  would  see  that  the  count  looked 
out  for  the  "queen,"  while  Brown  stayed  on 
the  piazza  and  talked  bargains  with  papa.  It 
worried  Peter — you  could  see  that.  He'd  set  in 
the  barn  with  Jonadab  and  me,  thinking,  think 
ing,  and  all  at  once  he'd  bust  out: 

"Bless  that  Dago's  heart!  I  haven't  chummed 
in  with  the  degenerate  aristocracy  much  in  my 
time,  but  somewhere  or  other  I've  seen  that  chap 
before.  Now  where — where — where  ?  " 

For  the  first  two  weeks  the  count  paid  his  board 
like  a  major;  then  he  let  it  slide.  Jonadab 
and  me  was  a  little  worried,  but  he  was  adver 
tising  us  like  fun,  his  photographs — snap  shots 
by  Peter — was  getting  into  the  papers,  so  we 
judged  he  was  a  good  investment.  But  Peter 
got  bluer  and  bluer. 

One  night  we  was  in  the  setting  room — me  and 
Jonadab  and  the  count  and  Ebenezer.  The 
"queen"  and  the  rest  of  the  boarders  was  abed. 

The  count  was  spinning  a  pigeon  English 
yarn  of  how  he'd  fought  a  duel  with  rapiers. 
When  he'd  finished,  old  Dillaway  pounded  his 
knee  and  sung  out: 

"That's  bus'ness!    That's  the  way  to  fix  'em! 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  43 

No  lawsuits,  no  argument,  no  delays.  Just  take 
'em  out  and  punch  holes  in  'em.  Did  you  hear 
that,  Brown  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  heard  it,"  says  Peter,  kind  of  absent- 
minded  like.  "  Fighting  with  razors,  wan't  it  ?  " 

Now  there  wan't  nothing  to  that — 'twas  just 
some  of  Brown's  sarcastic  spite  getting  the  best 
of  him — but  I  give  you  my  word  that  the  count 
turned  yellow  under  his  brown  skin,  kind  of 
like  mud  rising  from  the  bottom  of  a  pond. 

"What-a  you  say?  "  he  says,  bending  for'ards. 

"Mr.  Brown  was  mistaken,  that's  all,"  says 
Dillaway;  "he  meant  rapiers." 

"  But  why-a  razors — why-a  razors  ?  "  says  the 
count. 

Now  I  was  watching  Brown's  face,  and  all  at 
once  I  see  it  light  up  like  you'd  turned  a  search 
light  on  it.  He  settled  back  in  his  chair  and 
fetched  a  long  breath  as  if  he  was  satisfied.  Then 
he  grinned  and  begged  pardon  and  talked  a  blue 
streak  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Next  day  he  was  the  happiest  thing  in  sight, 
and  when  Miss  Dillaway  and  the  count  went 
Lover's  Nesting  he  didn't  seem  to  care  a  bit. 
All  of  a  sudden  he  told  Jonadab  and  me  that  he 
was  going  up  to  Boston  that  evening  on  bus'ness 
and  wouldn't  be  back  for  a  day  or  so.  He  wouldn't 
tell  what  the  bus'ness  was,  either,  but  just  whis- 


44        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

tied  and  laughed  and  sung,  "Good-by,  Susannah; 
don't  you  grieve  for  me,"  till  train  time. 

He  was  back  again  three  nights  afterward, 
and  he  come  right  out  to  the  barn  without  going 
nigh  the  house.  He  had  another  feller  with  him, 
a  kind  of  shabby  dressed  Italian  man  with  curly 
hair. 

"Fellers,"  he  says  to  me  and  Jonadab,  "this 
is  my  friend,  Mr.  Macaroni;  he's  going  to  engi 
neer  the  barber  shop  for  a  while." 

Well,  we'd  just  let  our  other  barber  go,  so  we 
didn't  think  anything  of  this,  but  when  he  said 
that  his  friend  Spaghetti  was  going  to  stay  in  the 
barn  for  a  day  or  so,  and  that  we  needn't  mention 
that  he  was  there,  we  thought  that  was  funny. 

But  Peter  done  a  lot  of  funny  things  the  next 
day.  One  of  'em  was  to  set  a  feller  painting  a 
side  of  the  house  by  the  count's  window,  that 
didn't  need  painting  at  all.  And  when  the  feller 
quit  for  the  night,  Brown  told  him  to  leave  the 
ladder  where  'twas. 

That  evening  the  same  crowd  was  together  in 
the  setting  room.  Peter  was  as  lively  as  a  cricket, 
talking,  talking,  all  the  time.  By  and  by  he  says: 

"Oh,  say,  I  want  you  to  see  the  new  barber. 
He  can  shave  anything  from  a  note  to  a  porkjc- 
pine.  Come  in  here,  Chianti!"  he  says,  opening 
the  door  and  calling  out.  "  I  want  you." 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  M4N4GER  45 

And  in  come  the  new  Italian  man,  smiling  and 
bowing  and  looking  "meek  and  lowly,  sick  and 
sore,"  as  the  song  says. 

Well,  we  laughed  at  Brown's  talk  and  asked 
the  Italian  all  kinds  of  fool  questions  and  nobody 
noticed  that  the  count  wan't  saying  nothing. 
Pretty  soon  he  gets  up  and  says  he  guesses  he'll 
go  to  his  room,  'cause  he  feels  sort  of  sick. 

And  I  tell  you  he  looked  sick.  He  was  yellower 
than  he  was  the  other  night,  and  he  walked  like 
he  hadn't  got  his  sea  legs  on.  Old  Dillaway  was 
terrible  sorry  and  kept  asking  if  there  wan't 
something 'he  could  do,  but  the  count  put  him 
off  and  went  out. 

"Now  that's  too  bad!"  says  Brown.  "Spag 
hetti,  you  needn't  wait  any  longer." 

So  the  other  Italian  went  out,  too. 

And  then  Peter  T.  Brown  turned  loose  and 
talked  the  way  he  done  when  me  and  Jonadab 
first  met  him.  He  just  spread  himself.  He  told 
of  this  bargain  that  he'd  made  and  that  sharp 
trade  he  had  turned,  while  we  set  there  and  lis 
tened  and  laughed  like  a  parsel  of  fools.  And 
every  time  that  Ebenezer'd  get  up  to  go  to  bed, 
Peter'd  trot  out  a  new  yarn  and  he'd  have  to  stop 
to  listen  to  that.  And  it  got  to  be  eleven  o'clock 
and  then  twelve  and  then  one. 

It  was  just  about  quarter  past  one  and  we  was 


46         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

laughing  our  heads  off  at  one  of  Brown's  jokes, 
when  out  under  the  back  window  there  was  a 
jingle  and  a  thump  and  a  kind  of  groaning  and 
wiggling  noise. 

"What  on  earth  is  that?"  says  Dillaway. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  says  Peter,  cool  as 
a  mack'rel  on  ice,  "if  that  was  his  royal  highness, 
the  count." 

He  took  up  the  lamp  and  we  all  hurried  out 
doors  and  'round  the  corner.  And  there,  sure 
enough,  was  the  count,  sprawling  on  the  ground 
with  his  leather  satchel  alongside  of  him,  and  his 
foot  fast  in  a  big  steel  trap  that  was  hitched  by 
a  chain  to  the  lower  round  of  the  ladder.  He 
rared  up  on  his  hands  when  he  see  us  and  started 
to  say  something  about  an  outrage. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  your  majesty,"  says 
Brown.  "Hi,  Chianti,  come  here  a  minute! 
Here's  your  old  college  chum,  the  count,  been 
and  put  his  foot  in  it." 

When  the  new  barber  showed  up  the  count 
never  made  another  move,  just  wilted  like  a  morn 
ing-glory  after  sunrise.  But  you  never  see  a 
worse  upset  man  than  Ebenezer  Dillaway. 

"  But  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  says  he,  kind  of 
wild  like.  "Why  don't  you  take  that  thing  off 
his  foot  ? " 

"Oh,"  says  Peter,  "he's  been  elongating  my 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  47 

pedal  extremity  for  the  last  month  or  so;  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  kick  if  he  pulls  his  own  for  a 
while.  You  see,"  he  says,  "it's  this  way: 

"Ever  since   his  grace  condescended   to   lend 
the  glory  of  his  countenance  to  this  humble  roof," 


^ ,- 

•^ 

HE  RAREO  UP  on  HIS  HANDS. 

he  says,  "it's  stuck  in  my  mind  that  I'd  seen  the 
said  countenance  somewhere  before.  The  other 
night  when  our  conversation  was  trifling  with  the 
razor  subject  and  the  Grand  Lama  here" — that's 
the  name  he  called  the  count — "was  throwing  in 


48         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

details  about  his  carving  his  friends,  it  flashed 
across  me  where  I'd  seen  it.  About  a  couple  of 
years  ago  I  was  selling  the  guileless  rural  drug 
gists  contiguous  to  Scranton,  Pennsylvania,  the 
tasty  and  happy  combination  called  'Dr.  Bulger's 
Electric  Liver  Cure,'  the  same  being  a  sort  of 
electric  light  for  shady  livers,  so  to  speak.  I 
made  my  headquarters  at  Scranton,  and,  while 
there,  my  hair  was  shortened  and  my  chin  smoothed 
in  a  neat  but  gaudy  barber  shop,  presided  over 
by  my  friend  Spaghetti  here,  and  my  equally 
valued  friend  the  count." 

"So,"  says  Peter,  smiling  and  cool  as  ever, 
"when  it  all  came  back  to  me,  as  the  song  says, 
I  journeyed  to  Scranton  accompanied  by  a  photo 
graph  of  his  lordship.  I  was  lucky  enough  to 
find  Macaroni  in  the  same  old  shop.  He  knew 
the  count's  classic  profile  at  once.  It  seems  his 
majesty  had  hit  up  the  lottery  a  short  time  pre 
vious  for  a  few  hundred  and  had  given  up  bar- 
bering.  I  suppose  he'd  read  in  the  papers  that 
the  imitation  count  line  was  stylish  and  profitable 
and  so  he  tried  it  on.  It  may  be,"  says  Brown, 
offhand,  "that  he  thought  he  might  marry  some 
rich  girl.  There's  some  fool  fathers,  judging 
by  the  papers,  that  are  willing  to  sell  their  daugh 
ters  for  the  proper  kind  of  tag  on  a  package 
like  him." 


THE  COUNT  AND  THE  MANAGER  49 

Old  man  Dillaway  kind  of  made  a  face,  as  if 
he'd  ate  something  that  tasted  bad,  but  he  didn't 
speak. 

"And  so,"  says  Peter,  "Spaghetti  and  I  came 
to  the  Old  Home  together,  he  to  shave  for  twelve 
per,  and  I  to  set  traps,  etcetera.  That's  a  good 
trap,"  he  says,  nodding,  "I  bought  it  in  Boston. 
I  had  the  teeth  filed  down,  but  the  man  that  sold 
it  said  'twould  hold  a  horse.  I  left  the  ladder 
by  his  grace's  window,  thinking  he  might  find  it 
handy  after  he'd  seen  his  friend  of  other  days, 
particularly  as  the  back  door  was  locked. 

"And  now,"  goes  on  Brown,  short  and  sharp, 
"let's  talk  business.  Count,"  he  says,  "you 
are  set  back  on  the  books  about  sixty  odd  for  old 
home  comforts.  We'll  cut  off  half  of  that  and 
charge  it  to  advertising.  You  draw  well,  as  the 
man  said  about  the  pipe.  But  the  other  thirty 
you'll  have  to  work  out.  You  used  to  shave  like 
a  bird.  I'll  give  you  twelve  dollars  a  week  to 
chip  in  with  Macaroni  here  and  barber  the 
boarders." 

But  Dillaway  looked  anxious. 

"Look  here,  Brown,"  he  says,  "I  wouldn't  do 
that.  I'll  pay  his  board  bill  and  his  traveling 
expenses  if  he  clears  out  this  minute.  It  seems 
tough  to  set  him  shaving  after  he's  been  such 
a  big  gun  around  here." 


50        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

I  could  see  right  off  that  the  arrangement 
suited  Brown  first  rate  and  was  exactly  what 
he'd  been  working  for,  but  he  pretended  not  to 
care  much  for  it. 

"Oh!  I  don't  know,"  he  says.  "I'd  rather 
be  a  sterling  barber  than  a  plated  count.  But 
anything  to  oblige  you,  Mr.  Dillaway." 

So  the  next  day  there  was  a  nobleman  missing 
at  the  "Old  Home  House,"  and  all  we  had  to 
remember  him  by  was  a  trunk  full  of  bricks. 
And  Peter  T.  Brown  and  the  "queen"  was  roost 
ing  in  the  Lover's  Nest;  and  the  new  Italian 
was  busy  in  the  barber  shop.  He  could  shave, 
too.  He  shaved  me  without  a  pull,  and  my  face 
ain't  no  plush  sofy,  neither. 

And  before  the  season  was  over  the  engage 
ment  was  announced.  Old  Dillaway  took  it 
pretty  well,  considering.  He  liked  Peter,  and 
his  having  no  money  to  speak  of  didn't  count, 
because  Ebenezer  had  enough  for  all  hands. 
The  old  man  said  he'd  been  hoping  for  a  son- 
in-law  sharp  enough  to  run  the  "  Consolidated 
Stores"  after  he  was  gone,  and  it  looked,  he  said* 
as  if  he'd  found  him. 


THE  SOUTH  SHORE  WEATHER  BUREAU 


THE  SOUTH  SHORE  WEATHER  BUREAU 

"But,"  says  Cap'n  Jonadab  and  me  together* 
jest  as  if  we  was  "reading  in  concert"  same  as  the 
youngsters  do  in  school,  "but,"  we  says,  "will  it 
work  ?  Will  anybody  pay  for  it  ?  " 

"Work?"  says  Peter  T.,  with  his  fingers  in> 
the  arm-holes  of  the  double-breasted  danger- 
signal  that  he  called  a  vest,  and  with  his  cigar 
tilted  up  till  you'd  think  'twould  set  his  hat-brim 
afire.  "Work?"  says  he.  "Well,  maybe 
'twouldn't  work  if  the  ordinary  brand  of  canned 
lobster  was  running  it,  but  with  me  to  jerk  the 
lever  and  sound  the  loud  timbrel — why,  say!  it's 
like  stealing  money  from  a  blind  cripple  that's 
hard  of  hearing." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  says  Cap'n  Jonadab.  "Bug 
this  ain't  like  starting  the  Old  Home  House. 
That  was  opening  up  a  brand-new  kind  of  hotel 
that  nobody  ever  heard  of  before.  This  is  pedi- 
dling  weather  pr  ^phecies  when  there's  the  Gov'- 
ment  Weather  Bureau  running  opposition — not 
to  mention  th^  Old  Farmer's  Almanac,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  more,"  he  says. 

Aft 


54        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

Brown  took  his  patent  leathers  down  off  tK« 
rail  of  the  piazza,  give  the  ashes  of  his  cigar  a  flip 
— he  knocked  'em  into  my  hat  that  was  on  the 
floor  side  of  his  chair,  but  he  was  toe  excited  to 
mind — and  he  say  : 

"Confound  it,  man!"  he  says.  "You  can 
throw  more  cold  water  than  a  fire-engine.  Old 
Farmer's  Almanac  I  This  isn't  any  'About  this 
time  look  out  for  snow*  business.  And  it  ain't 
any  Washington  cold  slaw  like  '  Weather  for  New 
England  and  Rocky  Mountains,  Tuesday  to  Fri 
day;  cold  to  warm;  well  done  on  the  edges  with 
a  rare  streak  in  the  middle,  preceded  or  followed 
by  rain,  snow,  or  clearing.  Wind,  north  to  south, 
varying  east  and  west/  No  siree!  this  is  to-day  '/ 
weather  for  Cape  Cod,  served  right,  off  the  grid 
dle  on  a  hot  plate,  and  cooked  by  the  chef  a  that. 
You  don't  realize  what  a  regular  dime-museurw 
wonder  that  feller  is,"  he  says. 

Well,  I  suppcse  we  didn't.  You  see,  JonadaU 
and  me,  like  the  rest  of  the  folks  around  Well- 
mouth,  had  come  to  take  Beriah  Crocker  and  his 
weather  notions  as  the  regular  thing,  like  baked 
beans  on  a  Saturday  night.  Beriah,  he 

But  there!  I've  been  sailing  siern  first.  Let's 
get  her  headed  right,  if  we  ever  expect  to  turn 
the  first  mark.  You  see,  'twas  this  way: 

'Twas  in  the  early  part  of  May  follering  the  year 


THE  FEATHER  BUREAU          55 

that  the  "Old  Home  House"  was  opened.  We'd 
had  the  place  all  painted  up,  decks  holy-stoned, 
bunks  overhauled,  and  one  thing  or  'nother, 
and  the  "Old  Home"  was  all  taut  and  shipshape, 
ready  for  the  crew — boarders,  I  mean.  Passages 
was  booked  all  through  the  summer  and  it  looked 
as  if  our  second  season  would  be  better'n  our 
first. 

Then  the  Dillaway  girl — she  was  christened 
Lobelia,  like  her  mother,  but  she'd  painted  it 
out  and  cruised  under  the  name  of  Belle  since 
the  family  got  rich — she  thought  'twould  be  nice 
to  have  what  she  called  a  "spring  house-party'* 
for  her  particular  friends  'fore  the  regular  season 
opened.  So  Peter — he  being  engaged  at  the  time 
and  consequent  in  that  condition  where  he'd 
have  put  on  horns  and  "mooed"  if  she'd  give 
the  order — he  thought  'twould  be  nice,  too,  and 
for  a  week  it  was  "all  hands  on  deck!"  getting 
ready  for  the  "house-party." 

Two  days  afore  the  thing  was  to  go  off  the  ways 
Brown  gets  a  letter  from  Belle,  and  in  it  says 
she's  invited  a  whole  lot  of  folks  from  Chicago 
and  New  York  and  Boston  and  the  land  knows 
where,  and  that  they've  never  been  to  the  Cape 
and  she  wants  to  show  'em  what  a  "quaint" 
place  it  is.  "Can't  you  get,"  says  she,  "two  or 
three  delightful,  queer,  old  'longshore  characters 


56        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

to  be  at  work  'round  the  hotel  ?    It'll  give  such 
a  touch  of  local  color,"  she  says. 

So  out  comes  Peter  with  the  letter. 

"Barzilla,"  he  says  to  me,  "I  want  some  char 
acters.  Know  anybody  that's  a  character  ?  " 

"Well,"  says  I,  "there's  Nate  Slocum  over 
to  Orham.  He'd  steal  anything  that  wa'n't 
spiked  down.  He's  about  the  toughest  char 
acter  I  can  think  of,  offhand,  this  way." 

"Oh,  thunder!"  says  Brown.  "I  don't  want 
a  crook;  that  wouldn't  be  any  novelty  to  this 
crowd,"  he  says.  "What  I'm  after  is  an  odd 
stick;  a  feller  with  pigeons  in  his  loft.  Not  a 
lunatic,  but  jest  a  queer  genius — little  queerer 
than  you  and  the  Cap'n  here." 

After  a  while  we  got  his  drift,  and  I  happened 
to  think  of  Beriah  and  his  chum,  Eben  Cobb. 
They  lived  in  a  little  shanty  over  to  Skakit  P'int 
and  got  their  living  lobstering,  and  so  on.  Both 
of  'em  had  saved  a  few  thousand  dollars,  but 
you  couldn't  get  a  cent  of  it  without  giving  'em 
ether,  and  they'd  rather  live  like  Portugees  than 
white  men  any  day,  unless  they  was  paid  to  change. 
Beriah's  pet  idee  was  foretelling  what  the  weather 
was  going  to  be.  And  he  could  do  it,  too,  better'n 
anybody  I  ever  see.  He'd  smell  a  storm  further'n 
a  cat  can  smell  fish,  and  he  hardly  ever  made  a 
mistake.  Prided  himself  on  it,  you  understand, 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU          57 

like  a  boy  does  on  his  first  long  pants.  His 
prophecies  was  his  idols,  so's  to  speak,  and  you 
couldn't  have  hired  him  to  foretell  what  he  knew 
was  wrong,  not  for  no  money. 

Peter  said  Beriah  and  Eben  was  just  the  sort 
of  "cards"  he  was  looking  for  and  drove  right 
over  to  see  'em.  He  hooked  'em,  too.  I  knew 
he  would;  he  could  talk  a  Come-Outer  into  be 
lieving  that  a  Unitarian  wasn't  booked  for  Tophet, 
if  he  set  out  to. 

So  the  special  train  from  Boston  brought  the 
"house -party"  down,  and  our  two-seated  buggy 
brought  Beriah  and  Eben  over.  They  didn't 
have  anything  to  do  but  to  look  "picturesque" 
and  say  "I  snum!"  and  "I  swan  to  man!"  and 
they  could  do  that  to  the  skipper's  taste.  The 
city  folks  thought  they  was  "just  too  dear  and  odd 
for  anything,"  and  made  'em  bigger  fools  than 
ever,  which  wa'n't  necessary. 

The  second  day  of  the  "party"  was  to  be  a 
sailing  trip  clear  down  to  the  life-saving  station, 
on  Setuckit  Beach.  It  certainly  looked  as  if 
'twas  going  to  storm,  and  the  Gov'ment  predic 
tions  said  it  >vas,  but  Beriah  said  "No,"  and 
stuck  out  that  'twould  clear  up  by  and  by.  Peter 
wanted  to  know  what  I  thought  about  their  start 
ing,  and  I  told  him  that  'twas  my  experience 
that  where  weather  was  concerned  Beriah  was 


58        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

a  good,  safe  anchorage.  So  they  sailed  away, 
and,  sure  enough,  it  cleared  up  fine.  And  the 
next  day  the  Gov'ment  fellers  said  "clear"  and 
Beriah  said  "rain,"  and  she  poured  a  flood. 
And,  after  three  or  four  of  such  experiences, 
Beriah  was  all  hunky  with  the  "house-party," 
and  they  looked  at  him  as  a  sort  of  wonderful 
freak,  like  a  two-headed  calf  or  the  "  snake  child," 
or  some  such  outrage. 

So,  when  the  party  was  over,  'round  comes 
Peter,  busting  with  a  new  notion.  What  he 
cal'lated  to  do  was  to  start  a  weather  prophesying 
bureau  all  on  his  own  hook,  with  Beriah  for 
prophet,  and  him  for  manager  and  general  adver 
tiser,  and  Jonadab  and  me  to  help  put  up  the 
money  to  get  her  going.  He  argued  that  summer 
folks  from  Scituate  to  Provincetown,  on  both 
sides  of  the  Cape,  would  pay  good  prices  for  the 
real  thing  in  weather  predictions.  The  Gov'ment 
bureau,  so  he  said,  covered  too  much  ground,  but 
Beriah  was  local  and  hit  her  right  on  the  head. 
His  idee  was  to  send  Beriah's  predictions  by 
telegraph  to  agents  in  every  Cape  town  each 
morning,  and  the  agents  was  to  hand  'em  to  sus- 
scribers.  First  week  a  free  trial;  after  that,  so 
much  per  prophecy. 

And    it    worked — oh,    land,    yes!    it    worked. 
Peter's  letters  and  circulars  would   satisfy  any- 


THE  FEATHER  BUREAU  59 

body  that  black  was  white,  and  the  free  trial  was 
a  sure  bait.  I  don't  know  why  'tis,  but  if  you 
offered  the  smallpox  free,  there'd  be  a  barrel  of 
victims  waiting  in  line  to  come  down  with  it. 
Brown  rigged  up  a  little  shanty  on  the  bluff  in 
front  of  the  "Old  Home,"  and  filled  it  full  of 
barometers  and  thermometers  and  chronometers 
and  charts,  and  put  Beriah  and  Eben  inside  to 
look  wise  and  make  b'lieve  do  something.  That 
was  the  office  of  "The  South  Shore  Weather 
Bureau,"  and  'twas  sort  of  sacred  and  holy,  and 
'twould  kill  you  to  see  the  boarders  tip-toeing 
up  and  peeking  in  the  winder  to  watch  them  two 
old  coots  squinting  through  a  telescope  at  the 
sky  or  scribbling  rubbish  on  paper.  And  Beriah 
was  right  'most  every  time.  I  don't  know  why — 
my  notion  is  that  he  was  born  that  way,  same  as 
some  folks  are  born  lightning  calculators — but 
I'll  never  forget  the  first  time  Peter  asked  him 
how  he  done  it. 

"Wall,"  drawls  Beriah,  "now  to-day  looks 
fine  and  clear,  don't  it  ?  But  last  night  my  left 
elbow  had  rheumatiz  in  it,  and  this  morning  my 
bones  ache,  and  my  right  toe-j'int  is  sore,  so  I 
know  we'll  have  an  easterly  wind  and  rain  this 
evening.  If  it  had  been  my  left  toe  now,  why " 

Peter  held  up  both  hands. 

"That'll  do,"  he  says.     "I   ain't   asking   any 


fo        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

more  questioiis.  Only,  if  the  boarders  or  outsiders 
ask  you  how  you  work  it,  you  cut  out  the  bones 
and  toe  business  and  talk  science  and  tempera 
ture  to  beat  the  cars.  Understand,  do  you  ?  It's 
science  or  no  eight-fifty  in  the  pay  envelope.  Left 
toe-joint!"  And  he  goes  off  grinning. 

We  had  to  have  Eben,  though  he  wasn't  wuth 
a  green  hand's  wages  as  a  prophet.  But  him 
and  Beriah  stuck  by  each  other  like  two  flies  in 
the  glue-pot,  and  you  couldn't  hire  one  without 
t'other.  Peter  said  'twas  all  right — two  prophets 
looked  better'n  one,  anyhow;  and,  as  subscrip 
tions  kept  up  pretty  well,  and  the  Bureau  paid  a 
fair  profit,  Jonadab  and  me  didn't  kick. 

In  July,  Mrs.  Freeman — she  had  charge  of 
the  upper  decks  in  the  "Old  Home"  and  was 
rated  head  chambermaid — up  and  quit,  and 
being  as  we  couldn't  get  another  capable  Cape 
Codder  just  then,  Peter  fetched  down  a  woman 
from  New  York;  one  that  a  friend  of  old  Dilla- 
way's  recommended.  She  was  able  seaman  so 
far's  the  work  was  concerned,  but  she'd  been 
good-looking  once  and  couldn't  forget  it,  and 
she  was  one  of  them  clippers  that  ain't  happy 
unless  they've  got  a  man  in  tow.  You  know  the 
kind:  pretty  nigh  old  enough  to  be  a  coal-barge, 
but  all  rigged  up  with  bunting  and  frills  like  a 
yacht. 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU          61 

Her  name  was  Kelly,  Emma  Kelly,  and  she 
was  a  widow — whether  from  choice  or  act  of 
Providence  I  don't  know.  The  other  women 
servants  was  all  down  on  her,  of  course,  'cause 
she  had  city  ways  and  a  style  of  wearing  her  togs 
that  made  their  Sunday  gowns  and  bonnets  look 
like  distress  signals.  But  they  couldn't  deny 
that  she  was  a  driver  so  far's  her  work  was  con 
cerned.  She'd  whoop  through  the  hotel  like  a 
no'theaster  anc*  have  everything  done,  and  done 
well,  by  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Then 
she'd  be  ready  to  dress  up  and  go  on  parade  to 
astonish  the  natives. 

Men — except  the  boarders,  of  course — was 
scarce  around  Wellmouth  Port.  First  the  Kelly 
lady  begun  to  flag  Cap'n  Jonadab  and  me,  but 
we  sheered  off  and  took  to  the  offing.  Jonadab, 
being  a  widower,  had  had  his  experience,  and  I 
never  had  the  marrying  disease  and  wasn't  han 
kering  to  catch  it.  So  Emma  had  to  look  for 
other  victims,  and  the  prophet-shop  looked  to 
her  like  the  most  likely  feeding-ground. 

And,  would  you  b'lieve  it,  them  two  old  critters, 
Beriah  and  Eben,  gobbled  the  bait  like  sculpins. 
If  she'd  been  a  woman  like  the  kind  they  was 
used  to — the  Cape  kind,  I  mean — I  don't  s'pose 
they'd  have  paid  any  attention  to  her;  but  she 
was  dicfrent  from  anything  they'd  ever  run  up 


to        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE'' 

against,  and  the  first  thing  you  know,  she  had  'em 
both  poke-hooked.  'Twas  all  in  fun  on  her 
part  first  along,  I  cal'Iate,  but  pretty  soon  some 
idiot  let  out  that  both  of  'em  was  wuth  money, 
and  then  the  race  was  on  in  earnest. 

She'd  drop  in  at  the  weather-factory  'long  in 
the  afternoon  and  pretend  to  be  terrible  interested 
in  the  goings  on  there. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  two  gentlemen  can  tell 
whether  it's  going  to  rain  or  not.  I  think  you 
are  the  most  wonderful  men!  Do  tell  me,  Mr. 
Crocker,  will  it  be  good  weather  to-morrer  ?  I 
wanted  to  take  a  little  walk  up  to  the  village  about 
four  o'clock  if  it  was." 

And  then  Beriah'd  swell  out  like  a  puffing  pig 
and  put  on  airs  and  look  out  of  the  winder,  and 
crow: 

"Yes'm,  I  jedge  that  we'll  have  a  southerly 
breeze  in  the  morning  with  some  fog,  but  nothing 
to  last,  nothing  to  last.  The  afternoon,  I  cal'Iate, 
'11  be  fair.  I — I — that  is  to  say,  I  was  figgering 
on  goin'  to  the  village  myself  to-morrer."  > 

Then  Emma  would  pump  up  a  blush,  and 
smile,  and  purr  that  she  was  so  glad,  'cause  then 
she'd  have  comp'ny.  And  Eben  would  glower 
at  Beriah  and  Beriah'd  grin  sort  of  superior-like, 
and  the  mutual  barometer,  so's  to  speak,  would 
fall  about  a  foot  during  the  next  hour.  The 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  63 

brotherly  business  between  the  two  prophets  was 
coming  to  an  end  fast,  and  all  on  account  of  Mrs. 
Kelly. 

She  played  'em  even  for  almost  a  month;  didn't 
show  no  preference  one  way  or  the  other.  First 
'twas  Eben  that  seemed  to  be  eating  up  to  wind- 
'ard,  and  then  Beriah'd  catch  a  puff  and  gain  for 
a  spell.  Cap'n  Jonadab  and  me  was  uneasy, 
for  we  was  afraid  the  Weather  Bureau  would 
suffer  'fore  the  thing  was  done  with;  but  Peter 
was  away,  and  we  didn't  like  to  interfere  till  he 
come  home. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  Emma  seemed  to  make 
up  her  mind,  and  'twas  all  Eben  from  that  time 
on.  The  fact  is,  the  widder  had  learned,  some 
how  or  'nother,  that  he  had  the  most  money  of 
the  two.  Beriah  didn't  give  up;  he  stuck  to 
it  like  a  good  one,  but  he  was  falling  behind  and 
he  knew  it.  As  for  Eben,  he  couldn't  help  show 
ing  a  little  joyful  pity,  so's  to  speak,  for  his  part 
ner,  and  the  atmosphere  in  that  rain  lab'ratory 
got  so  frigid  that  I  didn't  know  but  we'd  have 
to  put  up  a  stove.  The  two  wizards  was  hardly 
on  speaking  terms. 

The  last  of  August  come  and  the"  Old  Home 
House"  was  going  to  close  up  on  the  day  after 
Labor  Day.  Peter  was  down  again,  and  so  was 
Ebenezer  and  Belle,  and  there  was  to  be  high 


64        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

jinks  to  celebrate  the  season's  wind-up.  There 
was  to  be  a  grand  excursion  and  clambake  at 
Setuckit  Beach  and  all  hands  was  going — four 
catboats  full. 

Of  course,  the  weather  must  be  good  or  it's  no 
joy  job  taking  females  to  Setuckit  in  a  catboat. 
The  night  before  the  big  day,  Peter  came  out  to 
the  Weather  Bureau  and  Jonadab  and  me  dropped 
in  likewise.  Beriah  was  there  all  alone;  Eben 
was  out  walking  with  Emma. 

"Well,  Jeremiah,"  says  Brown,  chipper  as  a 
mack'rel  gull  on  a  spar-buoy,  "what's  the  out 
look  for  to-morrer  ?  The  Gov'ment  sharp  says 
there's  a  big  storm  on  the  way  up  from  Florida. 
Is  he  right,  or  only  an  'also  ran,'  as  usual  ?  ' 

"Wall,"  says  Beriah,  goin'  to  the  door,  "I 
don't  know,  Mr.  Brown.  It  don't  look  just 
right;  I  swan  it  don't!  I  can  tell  you  better  in 
the  morning.  I  hope  'twill  be  fair,  too,  'cause 
I  was  cal'lating  to  get  a  day  off  and  borrer  your 
horse  and  buggy  and  go  over  to  the  Ostable  camp- 
meeting.  It's  the  big  day  over  there,"  he  says. 

Now,  I  knew  of  course,  that  he  meant  he  was 
going  to  take  the  widder  with  him,  but  Peter 
spoke  up  and  says  he: 

"Sorry,  Beriah,  but  you're  too  late.  Eben 
asked  me  for  the  horse  and  buggy  this  morning. 
I  told  him  he  could  have  the  open  buggy;  the 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  65 

other  one's  being  repaired,  and  I  wouldn't  lend 
the  new  surrey  to  the  Grand  Panjandrum  himself. 
Eben's  going  to  take  the  fair  Emma  for  a  ride," 
he  says.  "Beriah,  I'm  afraid  our  beloved  Cobb 
is,  in  the  innocence  of  his  youth,  being  roped  in 
by  the  sophisticated  damsel  in  the  shoo-fly  hat," 
says  he. 

Me  and  Jonadab  hadn't  had  time  to  tell  Peter 
how  matters  stood  betwixt  the  prophets,  or  most 
likely  he  wouldn't  have  said  that.  It  hit  Beriah 
like  a  snowslide  off  a  barn  roof.  I  found  out 
afterwards  that  the  widder  had  more'n  half 
promised  to  go  with  him.  He  slumped  down 
in  his  chair  as  if  his  mainmast  was  carried  away, 
and  he  didn't  even  rise  to  blow  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  we  was  in  the  shanty.  Just  set  there,  look 
ing  fishy-eyed  at  the  floor. 

Next  morning  I  met  Eben  prancing  ar*und  in 
his  Sunday  clothes  and  with  a  necktie  on  that 
would  make  a  rainbow  look  like  a  mourning 
badge. 

"Hello!"  says  I.  "You  seem  to  be  pretty 
chipper.  You  ain't  going  to  start  for  that  fifteen- 
mile  ride  through  the  woods  to  Ostable,  be  you  ? 
Looks  to  me  as  if  'twas  going  to  rain." 

"The  predictions  for  this  day,"  says  he,  "is 
cloudy  in  the  forenoon,  but  clearing  later  on. 
Wind,  sou'east,  changing  to  south  and  sou'west." 


66        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

"  Did  Beriah  send  that  out  ?  "  says  I,  looking 
doubtful,  for  if  ever  it  looked  like  dirty  weather, 
I  thought  it  did  right  then. 

"Me  and  Beriah  sent  it  out,"  he  says,  jealous- 
like.  But  I  knew  'twas  Beriah's  forecast  or  he 
wouldn't  have  been  so  sure  of  it. 

Pretty  soon  out  comes  Peter,  looking  dubious 
at  the  sky. 

"If  it  was  anybody  else  but  Beriah,"  he  says, 
"I'd  say  this  mornings  prophecy  ought  to  be  sent 
to  Puck.  Where  is  the  seventh  son  of  the  seventh 
son — the  only  original  American  seer  ?  " 

He  wasn't  in  the  weather-shanty,  and  we  finally 
found  him  on  one  of  the  seats  'way  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  bluff.  He  didn't  look  'round  when 
we  come  up,  but  just  stared  at  the  water. 

"Hey,  Elijah!"  says  Brown.  He  was  always 
calling  Beriah  "Elijah"  or  "Isaiah"  or  "Jere 
miah"  or  some  other  prophet  name  out  of  Scrip 
ture.  "Does  this  go?"  And  he  held  out  the 
telegraph-blank  with  the  morning's  prediction 
on  it. 

Beriah  looked  around  just  for  a  second.  He 
looked  to  me  sort  of  sick  and  pale — that  is,  as 
pale  as  his  sun-burned  rhinoceros  hide  would 
ever  turn. 

"The  forecast  for  to-day,"  says  he,  looking 
at  the  water  again,  "is  cloudy  in  the  forenoon, 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  67 

but  clearing  later  on.     Wind  sou'east,  changing 
to  south  and  sou'west." 

"Right  you  are!"  says  Peter,  joyful.  "We 
start  for  Setuckit,  then.  And  here's  where  the 
South  Shore  Weather  Bureau  hands  another 
swift  jolt  to  your  Uncle  Sam/* 

So,  after  breakfast,  the  catboats  loaded  up,  the 
girls  giggling  and  screaming,  and  the  men  board 
ers  dressed  in  what  they  hoped  was  sea-togs. 
They  sailed  away  'round  the  lighthouse  and 
headed  up  the  shore,  and  the  wind  was  sou'east 
sure  and  sartin,  but  the  "clearing"  part  wasn't 
in  sight  yet. 

Beriah  didn't  watch  'em  go.  He  stayed  in  the 
shanty.  But  by  and  by,  when  Eben  drove  the 
buggy  out  of  the  barn  and  Emma  come  skipping 
down  the  piazza  steps,  I  see  him  peeking  out  of 
the  little  winder. 

The  Kelly  critter  had  all  sail  sot  and  colors 
flying.  Her  dress  was  some  sort  of  mosquito 
netting  with  wall-paper  posies  on  it,  and  there  was 
more  ribbons  flapping  than  there  is  reef-p'ints 
on  a  mainsail.  And  her  hat!  Great  guns.'  It 
looked  like  one  of  them  pictures  you  see  in  a 
flower-seed  catalogue. 

"Oh!"  she  squeals,  when  she  sees  the  buggy. 
"Oh!  Mr.  Cobb.  Ain't  you  afraid  to  go  in 
that  open  carriage  ?  It  looks  to  me  like  rain." 


68        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

But  Eben  waved  his  flipper,  scornful.  "My 
forecast  this  morning,"  says  he,  "is  cloudy  now, 
but  clearing  by  and  by.  You  trust  to  me,  Mis' 
Kelly.  Weather's  my  business.'* 

"Of  course  I  trust  you,  Mr.  Cobb,"  she  says, 
"Of  course  I  trust  you,  but  I  should  hate  to  spile 
my  gown,  that's  all." 

They  drove  out  of  the  yard,  fine  as  fiddlers, 
and  I  watched  'em  go.  When  I  turned  around, 
there  was  Beriah  watching  'em  too,  and  he  was 
smiling  for  the  first  time  that  morning.  But  it 
was  one  of  them  kind  of  smiles  that  makes  you 
wish  he'd  cry. 

At  ha'f-past  ten  it  begun  to  sprinkle;  at  eleven 
'twas  raining  hard;  at  noon  'twas  a  pouring, 
roaring,  sou'easter,  and  looked  good  for  the  next 
twelve  hours  at  least. 

"Good  Lord!  Beriah,"  says  Cap'n  Jonadab, 
running  into  the  Weather  Bureau,  "you've  missed 
stays  this  time,  for  sure.  Has  your  prophecy- 
works  got  indigestion  ?  "  he  says. 

But  Beriah  wasn't  there.  The  shanty  was 
closed,  and  we  found  out  afterwards  that  he 
spent  that  whole  day  in  the  store  down  at  the 
Port. 

By  two  o'clock  'twas  so  bad  that  I  put  on  my 
ileskins  and  went  over  to  Wellmouth  and  tele 
phoned  to  the  Setuckit  Beach  life-saving  station 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  69 

to  find  out  if  the  clambakers  had  got  there  right 
side  up.  They'd  got  there;  fact  is,  they  was 
in  the  station  then,  and  the  language  Peter  hove 
through  that  telephone  was  enough  to  melt  the 
wires.  'Twas  all  in  the  shape  of  compliments 
to  the  prophet,  and  I  heard  Central  tell  him  she'd 
report  it  to  the  head  office.  Brown  said  'twas 
blowing  so  they'd  have  to  come  back  by  the  in 
side  channel,  and  that  meant  landing  'way  up 
Harniss  way,  and  hiring  teams  to  come  to  the 
Port  with  from  there. 

'Twas  nearly  eight  when  they  drove  into  the 
yard  and  come  slopping  up  the  steps.  And  such 
a  passel  of  drownded  rats  you  never  see.  The 
women-folks  made  for  their  rooms,  but  the  men 
hopped  around  the  parlor,  shedding  puddles 
with  every  hop,  and  hollering  for  us  to  trot  out 
the  head  of  the  Weather  Bureau. 

"Bring  him  to  me,"  orders  Peter,  stopping  to 
pick  his  pants  loose  from  his  legs;  "I  yearn  to 
caress  him." 

And  what  old  Dillaway  said  was  worse 'n  that. 

But  Beriah  didn't  come  to  be  caressed.  'Twas 
quarter  past  nine  when  we  heard  wheels  in  the 
yard. 

"By  mighty!"  yells  Cap'n  Jonadab;  "it's  the 
camp-meeting  pilgrims.  I  forgot  them.  Here's 
a  show." 


;o        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

He  jumped  to  open  the  door,  but  it  opened 
afore  he  got  there  and  Beriah  come  in.  He  didn't 
pay  no  attention  to  the  welcome  he  got  from  the 
gang,  but  just  stood  on  the  sill,  pale,  but  grinning 
the  grin  that  a  terrier  dog  has  on  just  as  you're 
going  to  let  the  rat  out  of  the  trap. 

Somebody  outside  says:  "Whoa,  consarn  you!" 
Then  there  was  a  thump  and  a  sloshy  stamping 
on  the  steps,  and  in  comes  Eben  and  the  widder. 

I  had  one  of  them  long-haired,  foreign  cats  once 
that  a  British  skipper  gave  me.  'Twas  a  yeller 
and  black  one  and  it  fell  overboard.  When  we 
fished  it  out  it  looked  just  like  the  Kelly  woman 
done  then.  Everybody  but  Beriah  just  screeched 
— we  couldn't  help  it.  But  the  prophet  dicln't 
laugh;  he  only  kept  on  grinning. 

Emma  looked  once  round  the  room,  and  her 
eyes,  as  well  as  you  could  see  'em  through  the 
snarl  of  dripping  hair  and  hat-trimming,  fairly 
snapped.  Then  she  went  up  the  stairs  three 
steps  at  a  time. 

Eben  didn't  say  a  word.  He  just  stood  there  and 
leaked.  Leaked  and  smiled.  Yes,  sir!  his  face, 
over  the  mess  that  had  been  that  rainbow  necktie, 
had  the  funniest  look  of  idiotic  joy  on  it  that  ever  / 
see.  In  a  minute  everybody  else  shut  up.  We 
didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

'Twas  Beriah  that  spoke  first. 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  71 

"He!  he!  he!"  he  chuckled.  "He!  he!  he! 
Wasn't  it  kind  of  wet  coming  through  the  woods, 
Mr.  Cobb  ?  What  does  Mrs.  Kelly  think  of  the 
day  her  beau  picked  out  to  go  to  camp-meeting 
in?" 

Then  Eben  came  out  of  his  trance. 


IN  COMES  EBEN  AND  THE  WIDDER. 

"Beriah,"  says  he,  holding  out  a  dripping  flip 
per,  "shake!" 

But  Beriah  didn't  shake.     Just  stood  still. 


72         THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

"I've  got  a  s'prise  for  you,  shipmate,"  goes  on 
Eben.  "Who  did  you  say  that  lady  was  ?  " 

Beriah  didn't  answer.  I  begun  to  think  that 
some  of  the  wet  had  soaked  through  the  assis 
tant  prophet's  skull  and  had  give  him  water  on 
the  brain. 

"You  called  her  Mis'  Kelly,  didn't  you?" 
gurgled  Eben.  "Wall,  that  ain't  her  name. 
Her  and  me  stopped  at  the  Baptist  parsonage 
over  to  East  Harniss  when  we  was  on  the  way 
home  and  got  married.  She's  Mis'  Cobb  now," 
he  says. 

Well,  the  queerest  part  of  it  was  that  'twas 
the  bad  weather  was  really  what  brought  things 
to  a  head  so  sudden.  Eben  hadn't  spunked  up 
anywhere  nigh  enough  courage  to  propose,  but 
they  stopped  at  Ostable  so  long,  waiting  for  the 
rain  to  let  up,  that  'twas  after  dark  when  they 
was  half  way  home.  Then  Emma — oh,  she  was 
a  slick  one! — said  that  her  reputation  would  be 
ruined,  out  that  way  with  a  man  that  wa'n't  her 
husband.  If  they  was  married  now,  she  said — 
and  even  a  dummy  could  take  that  hint. 

I  found  Beriah  at  the  weather-shanty  about 
an  hour  afterwards  with  his  head  on  his  arms. 
He  looked  up  when  I  come  in. 

"Mr.  Wingate,"  he  says,  "I'm  a  fool,  but  for 
the  land's  sake  don't  think  I'm  such  a  fool  as  not 


THE  WEATHER  BUREAU  73 

to  know  that  this  here  storm  was  bound  to  strike 
to-day.  I  lied,"  he  says;  "I  lied  about  the 
weather  for  the  first  time  in  my  life;  lied  right 
up  and  down  so  as  to  get  her  mad  with  him.  My 
repertation's  gone  forever.  There's  a  feller  in 
the  Bible  that  sold  his — his  birthday,  I  think 
'twas — for  a  mess  of  porridge.  I'm  him;  only," 
and  he  groaned  awful,  "they've  cheated  me  out 
of  the  porridge." 

But  you  ought  to  have  read  the  letters  Peter 
got  next  day  from  subscribers  that  had  trusted 
to  the  prophecy  and  had  gone  on  picnics  and 
such  like.  The  South  Shore  Weather  Bureau 
went  out  of  business  right  then. 


THE   DOG   STAR 


THE  DOG  STAR 

It  commenced  the  day  after  we  took  old  man 
J&tumpton  out  codfishing.  Me  and  Cap'n  Jonadab 
both  told  Peter  T.  Brown  that  cod  wa'n't 
biting  much  at  that  season,  but  he  said  cod  be 
jiggered. 

"What's  troubling  me  just  now  is  landing 
suckers,"  he  says. 

So  the  four  of  us  got  into  the  Patience  M. — 
she's  Jonadab's  catboat — and  sot  sail  for  the 
Crab  Ledge.  And  we  hadn't  more'n  got  our 
lines  over  the  side  than  we  struck  into  a  school 
of  dogfish.  Now,  if  you  know  anything  about 
fishing  you  know  that  when  the  dogfish  strike 
on  it's  "good-by,  cod!"  So  when  Stumpton 
hauled  a  big  fat  one  over  the  rail  I  could  tell 
that  Jonadab  was  ready  to  swear.  But  do  you 
think  it  disturbed  your  old  friend,  Peter  Brown  ? 
No,  sir!  He  never  winked  an  eye. 

"By  Jove!"  he  sings  out,  staring  at  that  dog 
fish  as  if  'twas  a  gold  dollar.  "By  Jove!"  says 
he,  "that's  the  finest  specimen  of  a  Labrador 

77 


;8        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

mack'rel  ever  I  see.  Bait  up,  Stump,  and  go  at 
'em  again." 

So  Stumpton,  having  lived  in  Montana  evel 
sence  he  was  five  years  old,  and  not  having  sighted 
salt  water  in  all  that  time,  he  don't  know  but  what 
there  is  such  critters  as  "Labrador  mack'rel/' 
and  he  goes  at  'em,  hammer  and  tongs.  When 
we  come  ashore  we  had  eighteen  dogfish,  four 
sculpin  and  a  skate,  and  Stumpton  was  the  hap 
piest  loon  in  Ostable  County.  It  was  all  we  could 
do  to  keep  him  from  cooking  one  of  them  "mack*- 
rel"  with  his  own  hands.  If  Jonadab  hadn't 
steered  him  out  of  the  way  while  I  sneaked  down 
to  the  Port  and  bought  a  bass,  we'd  have  had 
to  eat  dogfish — we  would,  as  sure  as  I'm  a  foot 
high. 

Stumpton  and  his  daughter,  Maudina,  was  at 
the  Old  Home  House.  'Twas  late  in  September, 
and  the  boarders  had  cleared  out.  Old  Dilla- 
way — Peter's  father-in-law — had  decoyed  the  pair 
on  from  Montana  because  him  and  some  Wall 
Street  sharks  were  figgering  on  buying  some  cop 
per  country  out  that  way  that  Stumpton  owned. 
Then  Dillaway  was  took  sick,  and  Peter,  who  was 
just  back  from  his  wedding  tower,  brought  the 
Montana  victims  down  to  the  Cape  with  the  ex 
cuse  to  give  'em  a  good  time  alongshore,  but 
really  to  keep  'em  safe  and  out  of  the  way  till 


THE  DOG  STAR  79 

Ebenezer  got  well  enough  to  finish  robbing  'em. 
Belle — Peter's  wife — stayed  behind  to  look  after 
papa. 

Stumpton  was  a  great  tall  man,  narrer  in  the 
beam,  and  with  a  figgerhead  like  a  henhawk. 
He  enjoyed  himself  here  at  the  Cape.  He  fished, 
and  loafed,  and  shot  at  a  mark.  He  sartinly 
could  shoot.  The  only  thing  he  was  wishing 
for  was  something  alive  to  shoot  at,  and  Brown 
had  promised  to  take  him  out  duck  shooting. 
'Twas  too  early  for  oucks,  but  that  didn't  worry 
Peter  any;  he'd  a-had  ducks  to  shoot  at  if  he 
bought  all  the  poultry  in  the  township. 

Maudina  was  like  her  name,  pretty,  but  sort 
of  soft  and  mushy.  She  had  big  blue  eyes  and 
a  baby  face,  and  her  principal  cargo  was  poetry. 
She  had  a  deckload  of  it,  and  she'd  heave  it  over 
board  every  time  the  wind  changed.  She  was 
forever  ordering  the  ocean  to  "roll  on,"  but  she 
didn't  mean  it;  I  had  her  out  sailing  once  when 
the  bay  was  a  little  mite  rugged,  and  I  know. 
She  was  just  out  of  a  convent  school,  and  you 
could  see  she  wasn't  used  to  most  things — includ 
ing  men. 

The  first  week  slipped  along,  and  everything 
was  serene.  Bulletins  from  Ebenezer  more  en 
couraging  every  day,  and  no  squalls  in  sight. 
But  'twas  almost  too  slick.  I  was  afraid  the 


*o        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

calm  was  a  weather  breeder,  and  sure  enough, 
the  hurricane  struck  us  the  day  after  that  fish 
ing  trip. 

Peter  had  gone  driving  with  Maudina  and 
her  dad,  and  me  and  Cap'n  Jonadab  was  smok 
ing  on  the  front  piazza.  I  was  pulling  at  a  pipe, 
but  the  cap'n  had  the  home  end  of  one  of  Stump- 
ton's  cigars  harpooned  on  the  little  blade  of  his 
jackknife,  and  was  busy  pumping  the  last  drop 
of  comfort  out  of  it.  I  never  see  a  man  who 
wanted  to  get  his  money's  wath  more'n  Jonadab, 
I  give  you  my  word,  I  expected  to  see  him  swaller 
that  cigar  remnant  every  minute. 

And  all  to  once  he  gives  a  gurgle  in  his  throat. 
"Take  a  drink  of  water,"  says  I,  scared  like. 
"Well,  by  time!"  says  he,  pointing. 
A  feller  had  just  turned  the  corner  of  the  house 
and  was  heading  up  in  our  direction.     He  was 
a  thin,   lengthy  craft,   with   more'n   the   average 
amount  of  wrists  sticking  out  of  his  sleeves,  and 
with  long  black  hair  trimmed  aft  behind  his  ears 
and  curling  on  the  back  of  his  neck.     He  had 
high  cheek  bones  and  kind  of  sunk-in  black  eyes, 
and  altogether  he  looked  like  "Dr.   Macgoozle- 
um,  the   Celebrated   Blackfoot   Medicine   Man." 
If  he'd  hollered:    "Sagwa  Bitters,  only  one  dol 
lar  a  bottle!"  I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised. 
But  his  clothes — don't  say  a  word!     His  coat 


THE  DOG  STAR  81 

was  long  and  buttoned  up  tight,  so's  you  couldn't 
tell  whether  he  had  a  vest  on  or  not — though 
'twas  a  safe  bet  he  hadn't — and  it  and  his  pants 
was  made  of  the  loudest  kind  of  black-and-white 
checks.  No  nice  quiet  pepper-and-salt,  you  under 
stand,  but  the  checkerboard  kind,  the  oilcloth 
kind,  the  kind  that  looks  like  the  marble  floor 
in  the  Boston  post-office.  They  was  pretty 
tolerable  seedy,  and  so  was  his  hat.  Oh,  he  was 
a  last  year's  bird's  nest  now,  but  when  them  clothes 
was  fresh — whew!  the  northern  lights  and  a 
rainbow  mixed  wouldn't  have  been  more'n  a 
cloudy  day  'longside  of  him. 

He  run  up  to  the  piazza  like  a  clipper  coming 
into  port,  and  he  sweeps  off  that  rusty  hat  and 
hails  us  grand  and  easy. 

"Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  says  he. 

"We  don't  want  none,"  says  Jonadab,  de 
cided. 

The  feller  looked  surprised.  "I  beg  your  par 
don,"  says  he.  "  You  don't  want  any — what  ?  " 

"We  don't  want  any  'Life  of  King  Solomon* 
nor  'The  World's  Big  Classifyers.'  And  we  don't 
want  to  buy  any  patent  paint,  nor  sewing  ma 
chines,  nor  clothes  washers,  nor  climbing  ever 
green  roses,  nor  rheumatiz  salve.  And  we  don't 
want  our  pictures  painted,  neither." 

Jonadab   was   getting   excited.     Nothing   riles 


82         THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

him  wuss  than  a  peddler,  unless  it's  a  woman 
selling  tickets  to  a  church  fair.  The  feller  swelled 
up  until  I  thought  the  top  button  on  that  thunder 
storm  coat  would  drag  anchor,  sure. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  says  he.  "I  have  called 
to  see  Mr.  Peter  Brown;  he  is — er — a  relative 
of  mine." 

Well,  you  could  have  blown  me  and  Jonadab 
over  with  a  cat's-paw.  We  went  on  our  beam 
ends,  so's  to  speak.  A  relation  of  Peter  T.'s; 
why,  if  he'd  been  twice  the  panorama  he  was 
we'd  have  let  him  in  when  he  said  that.  Loud 
clothes,  we  figgered,  must  run  in  the  family.  We 
remembered  how  Peter  was  dressed  the  first  time 
we  met  him. 

"You  don't  say!"  says  I.  "Come  right  up 
and  set  down,  Mr. — Mr.— 

"Montague,"  says  the  feller.  "Booth  Mon 
tague.  Permit  me  to  present  my  card." 

He  drove  into  the  hatches  of  his  checkerboards 
and  rummaged  around,  but  he  didn't  find  nothing 
but  holes,  I  jedge,  because  he  looked  dreadful 
put  out,  and  begged  our  pardons  five  or  six  times. 

"Dear  me!"  says  he.  "This  is  embarassing. 
I've  forgot  my  cardcase." 

We  told  him  never  mind  the  card;  any  of 
Peter's  folks  was  more'n  welcome.  So  he  come 
up  the  steps  and  set  down  in  a  piazza  chair  like 


THE  DOG  STAR  83 

King  Edward  perching  on  his  throne.  Then  he 
hove  out  some  remarks  about  its  being  a  nice 
morning,  all  in  a  condescending  sort  of  way,  as 
if  he  usually  attended  to  the  weather  himself, 
but  had  been  sort  of  busy  lately,  and  had  handed 
the  job  over  to  one  of  the  crew.  We  told  him  all 
about  Peter,  and  Belle,  and  Ebenezer,  and  about 
Stumpton  and  Maudina.  He  was  a  good  deal 
interested,  and  asked  considerable  many  questions. 
Pretty  soon  we  heard  a  carriage  rattling  up  the 
road. 

"Hello!"  says  I.  "I  guess  that's  Peter  and 
the  rest  coming  now." 

Mr.  Montague  got  off  his  throne  kind  of  sud 
den. 

"Ahem!"  says  he.  "Is  there  a  room  here 
where  I  may — er — receive  Mr.  Brown  in  a  less 
public  manner?  It  will  be  rather  a — er — sur 
prise  for  him,  and " 

Well,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  sense  in  that. 
I  know  'twould  surprise  me  to  have  such  an 
image  as  he  was  sprung  on  me  without  any  no 
tice.  We  steered  him  into  the  gents'  parlor, 
and  shut  the  door.  In  a  minute  the  horse  and 
wagon  come  into  the  yard.  Maudina  said  she'd 
had  a  "heavenly"  drive,  and  unloaded  some 
poetry  concerning  the  music  of  billows  and 
pine  trees,  and  such.  She  and  her  father  went 


84        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

up  to  their  rooms,  and  when  the  decks  was  clear 
Jonadab  and  me  tackled  Peter  T. 

"Peter,"  says  Jonadab,  "we've  got  a  sur 
prise  for  you.  One  of  your  relations  has  come." 

Brown,  he  did  look  surprised,  but  he  didn't 
act  as  he  was  any  too  joyful. 

"Relation  of  mine?"  says  he.  "Come  off! 
What's  his  name  ?  " 

We  told  him  Montague,  Booth  Montague. 
He  laughed. 

"Wake  up  and  turn  over,"  he  says.  "They 
never  had  anything  like  that  in  my  family.  Booth 
Montague!  Sure  'twa'n't  Algernon  Cough-drops  ?" 

We  said  no,  'twas  Booth  Montague,  and  that 
he  was  waiting  in  the  gents'  parlor.  So  he 
laughed  again,  and  said  somethin'  about  send 
ing  for  Laura  Lean  Jibbey,  and  then  we  started. 

The  checkerboard  feller  was  standing  up  when 
we  opened  the  door.  "Hello,  Petey!"  says  he, 
cool  as  a  cucumber,  and  sticking  out  a  foot  and 
a  half  of  wrist  with  a  hand  at  the  end  of  it. 

Now,  it  takes  considerable  to  upset  Peter 
Theodosius  Brown.  Up  to  that  time  and  hour 
I'd  have  bet  on  him  against  anything  short  of 
an  earthquake.  But  Booth  Montague  done  it 
• — knocked  him  plumb  out  of  water.  Peter 
actually  turned  white. 

"Great "  he  began,  and  then  stopped  an/ 


THE  DOG  STAR  85 

swallered.  "Hank!"  he  says,  and  set  down  in 
a  chair. 

"The  same/'  says  Montague,  waving  the  star 
board  extension  of  the  checkerboard.  "Petey, 
it  does  me  good  to  set  my  eyes  on  you.  Espe 
cially  now,  when  you're  the  real  thing." 

Brown  never  answered  for  a  minute.  Then 
he  canted  over  to  port  and  reached  down  into 
his  pocket.  "Well,"  says  he,  "how  much?'1 

But  Hank,  or  Booth,  or  Montague — whatever 
his  name  was — he  waved  his  flipper  disdainful. 
''Nun-nun-nun-no,  Petey,  my  son,"  he  says, 
smiling.  "It  ain't  'how  much?'  this  time. 
When  I  heard  how  you'd  rung  the  bell  the  first 
shot  out  the  box  and  was  rolling  in  coin,  I  said 
to  myself:  'Here's  where  the  prod  comes  back 
to  his  own.'  I've  come  to  live  with  you,  Petey, 
and  you  pay  the  freight." 

Peter  jumped  out  of  the  chair.  "Live  with 
me!"  he  says.  "You  Friday  evening  amateur 
night!  It's  back  to  'Ten  Nights  in  a  Barroom* 
for  yours!"  he  says. 

"Oh,  no,  it  ain't!"  says  Hank,  cheerful.  "It'll 
be  back  to  Popper  Dillaway  and  Belle.  When 
I  tell  'em  I'm  your  little  cousin  Henry  and  how 
you  and  me  worked  the  territories  together — 
why — well,  I  guess  there'll  be  gladness  round 
the  dear  home  nest;  hey?  " 


86        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

Peter  didn't  say  nothing.  Then  he  fetched 
a  long  breath  and  motioned  with  his  head  to 
Cap'n  Jonadab  and  me.  We  see  we  weren't 
invited  to  the  family  reunion,  so  we  went  out  and 
shut  the  door.  But  we  did  pity  Peter;  I  snum 
if  we  didn't! 

It  was  most  an  hour  afore  Brown  come  out  of 
that  room.  When  he  did  he  took  Jonadab  and 
me  by  the  arm  and  led  us  out  back  of  the 
barn. 

"Fellers,"  he  says,  sad  and  mournful,  "that 
— that  plaster  cast  in  a  crazy-quilt,"  he  says, 
referring  to  Montague,  "is  a  cousin  of  mine. 
That's  the  living  truth,"  says  he,  "and  the  only 
excuse  I  can  make  is  that  'tain't  my  fault.  He's 
my  cousin,  all  right,  and  his  name's  Hank  Schmults, 
but  the  sooner  you  box  that  fact  up  in  your  for- 
getory,  the  smoother  'twill  be  for  yours  drearily, 
Peter  T.  Brown.  He's  to  be  Mr.  Booth  Mon 
tague,  the  celebrated  English  poet,  so  long's  he 
hangs  out  at  the  Old  Home;  and  he's  to  hang 
out  here  until — well,  until  I  can  dope  out  a  way 
to  get  rid  of  him." 

We  didn't  say  nothing  for  a  minute — just 
thought.  Then  Jonadab  says,  kind  of  puzzled: 
"What  makes  you  call  him  a  poet  ?  "  he  says. 

Peter  answered  pretty  snappy:  '  'Cause  there's 
only  two  or  three  jobs  that  a  long-haired  image 


THE  DOG  STAR  87 

like  him  could  hold  down,"  he  says.  "I'd  call 
him  a  musician  if  he  could  play  'Bedelia*  on  a 
jews '-harp;  but  he  can't,  so's  he's  got  to  be  a 
poet." 

And  a  poet  he  was  for  the  next  week  or  so. 
Peter  drove  down  to  Wellmouth  that  night  and 
bought  some  respectable  black  clothes,  and  the 
follering  morning,  when  the  celebrated  Booth 
Montague  come  sailing  into  the  dining  room, 
with  his  curls  brushed  back  from  his  forehead, 
and  his  new  cutaway  on,  and  his  wrists  covered 
up  with  clean  cuffs,  blessed  if  he  didn't  look  dis 
tinguished — at  least,  that's  the  only  word  I  can 
think  of  that  fills  the  bill.  And  he  talked  beau 
tiful  language,  not  like  the  slang  he  hove  at 
Brown  and  us  in  the  gents'  parlor. 

Peter  done  the  honors,  introducing  him  to  us 
and  the  Stumptons  as  a  friend  who'd  come  from 
England  unexpected,  and  Hank  he  bowed  and 
scraped,  and  looked  absent-minded  and  crazy — 
like  a  poet  ought  to.  Oh,  he  done  well  at  it! 
You  could  see  that  'twas  just  pie  for  him. 

And  'twas  pie  for  Maudina,  too.  Being,  as 
I  said,  kind  of  green  concerning  men  folks,  and 
likewise  taking  to  poetry  like  a  cat  to  fish,  she 
just  fairly  gushed  over  this  fraud.  She'd  reel 
off  a  couple  of  fathom  of  verses  from  fellers 
named  Spencer  or  Waller,  or  such  like,  and  he'd 


88        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

never  turn  a  hair,  but  back  he'd  come  and  say 
they  was  good,  but  he  preferred  Confucius,  or 
Methuselah,  or  somebody  so  antique  that  she 
nor  nobody  else  ever  heard  of  'em.  Oh,  he  run 
a  safe  course,  and  he  had  her  in  tow  afore  they 
turned  the  first  mark. 

Jonadab  and  me  got  worried.  We  see  how 
things  was  going,  and  we  didn't  like  it.  Stump- 
ton  was  having  too  good  a  time  to  notice,  going 
after  "Labrador  mack'rel"  and  so  on,  and  Peter 
T.  was  too  busy  steering  the  cruises  to  pay  any 
attention.  But  one  afternoon  I  come  by  the 
summerhouse  unexpected,  and  there  sat  Booth 
Montague  and  Maudina,  him  with  a  clove  hitch 
round  her  waist,  and  she  looking  up  into  his  eyes 
like  they  were  peekholes  in  the  fence  'round 
paradise.  That  was  enough.  It  just  simply 
couldn't  go  any  further,  so  that  night  me  and 
Jonadab  had  a  confab  up  in  my  room. 

"Barzilla,"  says  the  cap'n,  "if  we  tell  Peter 
that  that  relation  of  his  is  figgering  to  marry 
Maudina  Stumpton  for  her  money,  and  that  he's 
more'n  likely  to  elope  with  her,  'twill  pretty  nigh 
kill  Pete,  won't  it  ?  No,  sir;  it's  up  to  you  and 
me.  We've  got  to  figger  out  some  way  to  get 
rid  of  the  critter  ourselves." 

"It's  a  wonder  to  me,"  I  says,  "that  Peter 
puts  up  with  him.  Why  don't  he  order  him  to 


THE  DOG  STAR  89 

/ 

clear  out,  and  tell  Belle  if  he  wants  to  ?  She 
can't  blame  Peter  'cause  his  uncle  was  father 
to  an  outrage  like  that." 

Jonadab  looks  at  me  scornful.  "  Can't,  hey  ?  " 
he  says.  "And  her  high-toned  and  chumming 
in  with  the  bigbugs  ?  It's  easy  to  see  you  never 
was  married,"  says  he. 

Well,  I  never  was,  so  I  shut  up. 

We  set  there  and  thought  and  thought,  and 
by  and  by  I  commenced  to  sight  an  idee  in  the 
offing.  'Twas  hull  down  at  first,  but  pretty  soon 
I  got  it  into  speaking  distance,  and  then  I  broke 
it  gentle  to  Jonadab.  He  grabbed  at  it  like 
the  "Labrador  mack'rel"  grabbed  Stumpton's 
hook.  We  set  up  and  planned  until  pretty  nigh 
three  o'clock,  and  all  the  next  day  we  put  in  our 
spare  time  loading  provisions  and  water  aboard 
the  Patience  M.  We  put  grub  enough  aboard 
to  last  a  month. 

Just  at  daylight  the  morning  after  that  we 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Montague's  bedroom. 
When  he  woke  up  enough  to  open  the  door — 
it  took  some  time,  'cause  eating  and  sleeping  was 
his  mainstay — we  told  him  that  we  was  planning 
an  early  morning  fishing  trip,  and  if  he  wanted 
to  go  with  the  folks  he  must  come  down  to  the 
landing  quick.  He  promised  to  hurry,  and  I 
stayed  by  the  door  to  see  that  he  didn't  get  away. 


90        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

In  about  ten  minutes  we  had  him  in  the  skiff 
rowing  off  to  the  Patience  M. 

"  Where's  the  rest  of  the  crowd  ?  "  says  he, 
when  he  stepped  aboard. 

"They'll  be  along  when  we're  ready  for  *em," 
says  I.  "You  go  below  there,  will  you,  and  stow 
away  the  coats  and  things." 

So  he  crawled  into  the  cabin,  and  I  helped 
Jonadab  get  up  sail.  We  intended  towing  the 
skiff,  so  I  made  her  fast  astern.  In  half  a  shake 
we  was  under  way  and  headed  out  of  the  cove. 
When  that  British  poet  stuck  his  nose  out  of 
the  companion  we  was  abreast  the  p'int. 

"Hi!"  says  he,  scrambling  into  the  cockpit. 
"What's  this  mean?" 

I  was  steering  and  feeling  toler'ble  happy  over 
the  way  things  had  worked  out. 

"Nice  sailing  breeze,  ain't  it  ?  "  says  I,  smiling. 

"  Where's  Mau — Miss  Stumpton  ?  "  he  says, 
wild  like. 

"She's  abed,  I  cal'late,"  says  I,  "getting  her 
beauty  sleep.  Why  don't  you  turn  in  ?  Or 
are  you  pretty  enough  now?  ' 

He  looked  first  at  me  and  then  at  Jonadab, 
and  his  face  turned  a  little  yellower  than  usual. 

"What  kind  of  a  game  is  this?"  he  asks, 
brisk.  "Where  are  you  going?  " 

Twas     Jonadab      that      answered.       "  We're 


THE  DOG  STAR  91 

bound,"  says  he,  "for  the  Bermudas.  It's  a 
lovely  place  to  spend  the  winter,  they  tell  me/* 
he  says. 

That  poet  never  made  no  remarks.  He  jumped 
to  the  stern  and  caught  hold  of  the  skiff's  paint 
er.  I  shoved  him  out  of  the  way  and  picked 
up  the  boat  hook.  Jonadab  rolled  up  his  shirt 
sleeves  and  laid  hands  on  the  centerboard  stick. 

"I  wouldn't,  if  I  was  you,"  says  the  cap'n. 

Jonadab  weighs  pretty  close  to  two  hundred, 
and  most  of  it's  gristle.  I'm  not  quite  so  much, 
fur's  tonnage  goes,  but  I  ain't  exactly  a  canary 
bird.  Montague  seemed  to  size  things  up  in  a 
jiffy.  He  looked  at  us,  then  at  the  sail,  and  then 
at  the  shore  out  over  the  stern. 

"Done!"  says  he.  "Done!  And  by  a  couple 
of 'farmers'!" 

And  down  he  sets  on  the  thwart. 

Well,  we  sailed  all  that  day  and  all  that  night. 
'Course  we  didn't  really  intend  to  make  the  Ber 
mudas.  What  we  intended  to  do  was  to  cruise 
around  alongshore  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  long 
enough  for  the  Stumptons  to  get  back  to  Dilla- 
way's,  settle  the  copper  business  and  break  for 
Montana.  Then  we  was  going  home  again  and 
turn  Brown's  relation  over  to  him  to  take  care 
of.  We  knew  Peter'd  have  some  plan  thought 
out  by  that  time.  We'd  left  a  note  telling  him 


92         THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

what  we'd  done,  and  saying  that  we  trusted  to 
him  to  explain  matters  to  Maudina  and  her  dad. 
We  knew  that  explaining  was  Peter's  main  holt. 

The  poet  was  pretty  chipper  for  a  spell.  He 
set  on  the  thwart  and  bragged  about  what  he'd 
do  when  he  got  back  to  "Petey"  again.  He 
said  we  couldn't  git  rid  of  him  so  easy.  Then 
he  spun  yarns  about  what  him  and  Brown  did 
when  they  was  out  West  together.  They  was 
interesting  yarns,  but  we  could  see  why  Peter 
wa'n't  anxious  to  introduce  Cousin  Henry  to 
Belle.  Then  the  Patience  M.  got  out  where 
'twas  pretty  rugged,  and  she  rolled  consider'ble 
and  after  that  we  didn't  hear  much  more  from 
friend  Booth — he  was  too  busy  to  talk. 

That  night  me  and  Jonadab  took  watch  and 
watch.  In  the  morning  it  thickened  up  and 
looked  squally.  I  got  kind  of  worried.  By 
nine  o'clock  there  was  every  sign  of  a  no'theaster, 
and  we  see  we'd  have  to  put  in  somewheres  and 
ride  it  out.  So  we  headed  for  a  place  we'll  call 
Baytown,  though  that  wa'n't  the  name  of  it. 
It's  a  queer,  old-fashioned  town,  and  it's  on  an 
island;  maybe  you  can  guess  it  from  that. 

Well,  we  run  into  the  harbor  and  let  go  anchor. 
Jonadab  crawled  into  the  cabin  to  get  some  ter- 
backer,  and  I  was  for'ard  coiling  the  throat  hal 
yard.  All  at  once  I  heard  oars  rattling,  and  I 


THE  DOG  STAR  93 

turned  my  head;  what  I  see  made  me  let  out 
a  yell  like  a  siren  whistle. 

There  was  that  everlasting  poet  in  the  skiff 
— you  remember  we'd  been  towing  it  astern — 
and  he  was  jest  cutting  the  painter  with  his  jack- 
knife.  Next  minute  he'd  picked  up  the  oars 
and  was  heading  for  the  wharf,  doubling  up  and 
stretching  out  like  a  frog  swimming,  and  with 
his  curls  streaming  in  the  wind  like  a  rooster's 
tail  in  a  hurricane,  He  had  a  long  start  'fore 
Jonadab  and  me  woke  up  enough  to  think  of 
chasing  him. 

But  we  woke  up  fin'lly,  and  the  way  we  flew 
round  that  catboat  was  a  caution.  I  laid  into 
them  halyards,  and  I  had  the  mainsail  up  to  the 
peak  afore  Jonadab  got  the  anchor  clear  of  the 
bottom.  Then  I  jumped  to  the  tiller,  and  the 
Patience  M.  took  after  that  skiff  like  a  pup  after 
a  tomcat.  We  run  alongside  the  wharf  just  as 
Booth  Hank  climbed  over  the  stringpiece. 

"Get  after  him,  Barzilla!"  hollers  Cap'n  Jona 
dab.  "I'll  make  her  fast." 

Well,  I  hadn't  took  more'n  three  steps  when 
I  see  'twas  goin'  to  be  a  long  chase.  Montague 
unfurled  them  thin  legs  of  his  and  got  over  the 
ground  something  wonderful.  All  you  could  see 
was  a  pile  of  dust  and  coat  tails  flapping. 

Up  on  the  wharf  we  went  and  round  the  cor- 


94        THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

ner  into  a  straggly  kind  of  road  with  old-fash 
ioned  houses  on  both  sides  of  it.  Nobody  in  the 
yards,  nobody  at  the  windows;  quiet  as  could 
be,  except  that  off  ahead,  somewheres,  there  was 
music  playing. 

That  road  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  but 
we  galloped  through  it  so  fast  that  the  scenery 
was  nothing  but  a  blur.  Booth  was  gaining  all 
the  time,  but  I  stuck  to  it  like  a  good  one.  We 
took  a  short  cut  through  a  yard,  piled  over  a 
fence  and  come  out  into  another  road,  and  up 
at  the  head  of  it  was  a  crowd  of  folks — men  and 
women  and  children  and  dogs. 

"Stop  thief!"  I  hollers,  and  'way  astern  I 
heard  Jonadab  bellering:  "Stop  thief!" 

Montague  dives  headfirst  for  the  crowd.  He 
fell  over  a  baby  carriage,  and  I  gained  a  tack 
'fore  he  got  up.  He  wa'n't  more'n  ten  yards 
ahead  when  I  come  busting  through,  upsetting 
children  and  old  women,  and  landed  in  what  I 
guess  was  the  main  street  of  the  place  and  right 
abreast  of  a  parade  that  was  marching  down  the 
middle  of  it. 

First  there  was  the  band,  four  fellers  tooting 
and  banging  like  fo'mast  hands  on  a  fishing 
smack  in  a  fog.  Then  there  was  a  big  darky 
toting  a  banner  with  "Jenkins*  Unparalleled 
Double  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  Company,  No.  2," 


THE  DOG  STAR  95 

on  it  in  big  letters.  Behind  him  was  a  boy  lead 
ing  two  great,  savage  looking  dogs — bloodhounds, 
I  found  out  afterwards — by  chains.  Then  come 
a  pony  cart  with  Little  Eva  and  Eliza's  child  in 
it;  Eva  was  all  gold  hair  and  beautifulness. 
And  astern  of  her  was  Marks  the  Lawyer,  on  his 
donkey.  There  was  lots  more  behind  him,  but 
the«e  was  all  I  had  time  to  see  just  then. 

Now,  there  was  but  one  way  for  Booth  Hank 
to  get  acrost  that  street,  and  that  was  to  bust 
through  the  procession.  And,  as  luck  would 
have  it,  the  place  he  picked  out  to  cross  was  just 
ahead  of  the  bloodhounds.  And  the  first  thing  I 
knew,  them  dogs  stretched  out  their  noses  and  took 
a  long  sniff,  and  then  bust  out  howling  like  all 
possessed.  The  boy,  he  tried  to  hold  'em,  but 
'twas  no  go.  They  yanked  the  chains  out  of  his 
hands  and  took  after  that  poet  as  if  he  owed  'em 
something.  And  every  one  of  the  four  million 
other  dogs  that  was  in  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalks 
fell  into  line,  and  such  howling  and  yapping  and 
scampering  and  screaming  you  never  heard. 

Well,  'twas  a  mixed-up  mess.  That  was  the  end 
of  the  parade.  Next  minute  I  was  racing  across 
country  with  the  whole  town  and  the  Uncle  Tom- 
mers  astern  of  me,  and  a  string  of  dogs  stretched  out 
ahead  fur's  you  could  see.  'Way  up  in  the  lead 
was  Booth  Montague  and  the  bloodhounds,  and 


96         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

away  aft  I  could  hear  Jonadab  yelling:  "Stop 
thief  !  " 

'Twas  lively  while  it  lasted,  but  it  didn't  last 
long.  There  was  a  little  hill  at  the  end  of  the 
field,  and  where  the  poet  dove  over  'tother  side 
of  it  the  bloodhounds  all  but  had  him.  Afore 
I  got  to  the  top  of  the  rise  I  heard  the  awfullest 
powwow  going  on  in  the  holler,  and  thinks  I: 
"They're  eating  him  alive!" 

But  they  wan't.  When  I  hove  in  sight  Mon 
tague  was  setting  up  on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of 
the  sand  bank  he'd  fell  into,  and  the  two  hounds 
was  rolling  over  him,  lapping  his  face  and  going  on 
as  if  he  was  their  grandpa  jest  home  from  sea  with 
his  wages  in  his  pocket.  And  round  them,  in  a 
double  ring,  was  all  the  town  dogs,  crazy  mad,  and 
barking  and  snarling,  but  scared  to  go  any  closer. 

In  a  minute  more  the  folks  begun  to  arrive; 
boys  first,  then  girls  and  men,  and  then  the 
women.  Marks  came  trotting  up,  pounding  the 
donkey  with  his  umbrella. 

"Here,  Lion!  Here,  Tige!"  he  yells.  "Quit 
it!  Let  him  alone!"  Then  he  looks  at  Mon 
tague,  and  his  jaw  kind  of  drops. 

"Why— why,  Hank!"  he  says. 

A  tall,  lean  critter,  in  a  black  tail  coat  and  a 
yaller  vest  and  lavender  pants,  comes  puffing  up. 
He  was  the  manager,  we  found  out  afterward. 


THE  DOG  STAR  97 

"Have  they  bit  him  ?"  says  he.     Then  he  done 
just  the  same  as  Marks;    his  mouth  opened  and 


"THEY'RE  EATING  HIM  ALIVE!" 

his  eyes  stuck  out.  "Hank  Schmults,  by  the 
living  jingo!"  says  he. 

Booth  Montague  looks  at  the  two  of  'em  kind 
of  sick  and  lonesome.  "Hello,  Barney!  How 
are  you,  Sullivan  ? "  he  says. 

I  thought  'twas  about  time  for  me  to  get  promi 
nent.  I  stepped  up,  and  was  just  going  to  say 
something  when  somebody  cuts  in  ahead  of  me. 

"Hum!"  says  a  voice,   a  woman's  voice,   and 


98         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

tolerable  crisp  and  vinegary.     "Hum!    it's  you, 
is  it  ?     I've  been  looking  for  you  !  " 

'Twas  Little  Eva  in  the  pony  cart.  Her  lovely 
posy  hat  was  hanging  on  the  back  of  her  neck, 
her  gold  hair  had  slipped  back  so's  you  could 
see  the  black  under  it,  and  her  beautiful  red 
cheeks  was  kind  of  streaky.  She  looked  some 
older  and  likewise  mad. 

"Hum!"  says  she,  getting  out  of  the  cart. 
"It's  you,  is  it,  Hank  Schmults  ?  Well,  p'r'aps 
you'll  tell  me  where  you've  been  for  the  last  two 
weeks  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  running  away 
and  leaving  your " 

Montague  interrupted  her.  "Hold  on,  Mag 
gie,  hold  on!"  he  begs.  "Don't  make  a  row 
here.  It's  all  a  mistake;  I'll  explain  it  to  you 
all  right.  Now,  please " 

"Explain!"  hollers  Eva,  kind  of  curling  up  her 
fingers  and  moving  toward  him.  "Explain,  will 
you  ?  Why,  you  miserable,  low-down " 

But  the  manager  took  hold  of  her  arm.  He'd 
been  looking  at  the  crowd,  and  I  cal'late  he  saw 
that  here  was  the  chance  for  the  best  kind  of  an 
advertisement.  He  whispered  in  her  ear.  Next 
thing  I  knew  she  clasped  her  hands  together, 
let  out  a  scream  and  runs  up  and  grabs  the  cele 
brated  British  poet  round  the  neck. 
"Booth!" says  she.  "My  husband!  Saved!  Saved!" 


THE  DOG  STAR  99 

And  she  went  all  to  pieces  and  cried  all  over 
his  necktie.  And  then  Marks  trots  up  the  child, 
and  that  young  one  hollers:  "Papa!  papa!"  and 
tackles  Hank  around  the  legs.  And  I'm  blessed 
if  Montague  don't  slap  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
and  toss  back  his  curls,  and  look  up  at  the  sky, 
and  sing  out:  "My  wife  and  babe!  Restored  to 
me  after  all  these  years!  The  heavens  be  thanked!" 

Well,  'twas  a  sacred  sort  of  time.  The  town 
folks  tiptoed  away,  the  men  looking  solemn  but 
glad,  and  the  women  swabbing  their  deadlights 
and  saying  how  affecting  'twas,  and  so  on.  Oh, 
you  could  see  that  show  would  do  business  that 
night,  if  it  never  did  afore. 

The  manager  got  after  Jonadab  and  me  later 
on,  and  did  his  best  to  pump  us,  but  he  didn't  find 
out  much.  He  told  us  that  Montague  belonged  to 
the  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  Company,  and  that  he'd 
disappeared  a  fortni't  or  so  afore,  when  they  were 
playing  at  Hyannis.  Eva  was  his  wife,  and  the 
child  was  their  little  boy.  The  bloodhounds  knew 
him,  and  that's  why  they  chased  him  so. 

"What  was  you  two  yelling  'Stop  thief!'  after 
him  for  ?  "  says  he.  "  Has  he  stole  anything  ?  " 

We  says  "No." 

"Then  what  did  you  want  to  get  him  for  ?"  he  says. 

"We  didn't,"  says  Jonadab.  "We  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  him.  We  don't  want  to  see  him  no  mor§." 


loo       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

You  could  tell  that  the  manager  was  puzzled, 
but  he  laughed. 

"All  right,"  says  he.  "If  I  know  anything 
about  Maggie — that's  Mrs.  Schmults — he  won't 
get  loose  ag'in." 

We  only  saw  Montague  to  talk  to  but  once 
that  day.  Then  he  peeked  out  from  under  the 
winder  shade  at  the  hotel  and  asked  us  if  '~7e'd 
told  anybody  where  he'd  been.  When  he  v^und 
we  hadn't,  he  was  thankful. 

"You  tell  Petey,"  says  he,  "that  he's  won  the 
whole  pot,  kitty  and  all.  I  don't  think  I'll  visit 
him  again,  nor  Belle,  neither." 

"I  wouldn't,"  says  I.  "They  might  write  to 
Maudina  that  you  was  a  married  man.  And 
old  Stumpton's  been  praying  for  something  alive 
to  shoot  at,"  I  says. 

The  manager  gave  Jonadab  ana  me  a  couple 
of  tickets,  and  we  went  to  the  show  that  night. 
And  when  we  saw  Booth  Hank  Montague  parad 
ing  about  the  stage  and  defying  the  slave  hunters, 
and  telling  'em  he  was  a  free  man,  standing  on 
the  Lord's  free  soil,  and  so  on,  we  realized  'twould 
have  been  a  crime  to  let  him  do  anything  else. 

"As  an  imitation  poet,"  says  Jonadab,  "he 
was  a  kind  of  mildewed  article,  but  as  a  play 
actor — well,  there  may  be  some  that  can  beat 
him,  but  I  never  see  'em!" 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR 

Them  Todds  had  got  on  my  nerves.  'Twas 
Peter's  ad  that  brought  'em  down.  You  see, 
'twas  'long  toward  the  end  of  the  season  at  the 
Old  Home,  and  Brown  had  been  advertising  in 
the  New  York  and  Boston  papers  to  "bag  the 
leftovers,"  as  he  called  it.  Besides  the  reg'lar 
hogwash  about  the  "breath  of  old  ocean"  and 
the  "simple,  cleanly  living  of  the  bygone  days 
we  dream  about,"  there  was  some  new  froth  con 
cerning  hunting  and  fishing.  You'd  think  the 
wild  geese  roosted  on  the  flagpole  nights,  and  the 
bluefish  clogged  up  the  bay  so's  you  could  walk 
on  their  back  fins  without  wetting  your  feet — 
that  is,  if  you  wore  rubbers  and  trod  light. 

"There!"  says  Peter  T.,  waving  the  adver 
tisement  and  crowing  gladsome;  "they'll  take 
to  that  like  your  temp'rance  aunt  to  brandy  cough- 
drops.  We'll  have  to  put  up  barbed  wire  to  keep 
'em  off." 

"Humph!"  grunts  Cap'n  Jonadab.  "Any 
body  but  a  born  fool'll  know  there  ain't  any  shoot 
ing  down  here  this  time  of  year." 

103 


104       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Peter  looked  at  him  sorrowful.  "Pop,"  says 
he,  "did  you  ever  hear  that  Solomon  answered  a 
summer  hotel  ad  ?  This  ain't  a  Chautauqua,  this 
is  the  Old  Home  House,  and  its  motto  is:  'There's 
a  new  victim  born  every  minute,  and  there's 
twenty-four  hours  in  a  day.'  You  set  back  and 
count  the  clock  ticks." 

Well,  that's  'bout  all  we  had  to  do.  We  got 
boarders  enough  from  that  ridiculous  advertise 
ment  to  fill  every  spare  room  we  had,  including 
Jonadab's  and  mine.  Me  and  the  cap'n  had  ro 
bunk  in  the  barn  loft;  but  there  was  some  satis 
faction  in  that — it  give  us  an  excuse  to  get  away 
from  the  "sports"  in  the  smoking  room. 

The  Todds  was  part  of  the  haul.  He  was  a 
little,  dried-up  man,  single,  and  a  minister. 
Nigh's  I  could  find  out,  he'd  given  up  preaching 
by  the  request  of  the  doctor  and  his  last  congre 
gation.  He  had  a  notion  that  he  was  a  mighty 
hunter  afore  the  Lord,  like  Nimrod  in  the  Bible, 
and  he'd  come  to  the  Old  Home  to  bag  a  few 
gross  of  geese  and  ducks. 

His  sister  was  an  old  maid,  and  slim,  neither  of 
which  failings  was  from  choice,  I  cal'late.  She 
wore  eye-glasses  and  a  veil  to  "  preserve  her  com 
plexion,"  and  her  idee  seemed  to  be  that  native 
Cape  Codders  lived  in  trees  and  ate  cocoanuts. 
She  called  'em  "barbarians,  utter  barbarians." 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    105 

Whenever  she  piped  "James"  her  brother  had  to 
drop  everything  and  report  on  deck.  She  was 
skipper  of  the  Todd  craft. 

Them  Todds  was  what  Peter  T.  called  "the 
limit,  and  a  chip  or  two  over."  The  other  would- 
be  gunners  and  fishermen  were  satisfied  to  slam 
shot  after  sandpeeps,  or  hook  a  stray  sculpin  or  a 
hake.  But  t'wa'n't  so  with  brother  James  Todd 
and  sister  Clarissa.  "Ducks"  it  was  in  the  ad 
vertising,  and  nothing  but  ducks  they  wanted. 
Clarissa,  she  commenced  to  hint  middling  p'inted 
concerning  fraud. 

Finally  we  lost  patience,  and  Peter  T.,  he  said 
they'd  got  to  be  quieted  somehow,  or  he'd  do 
some  shooting  on  his  own  hook;  said  too  much 
Toddy  was  going  to  his  head.  Then  I  suggested 
taking  'em  down  the  beach  somewheres  on  the 
chance  of  seeing  a  stray  coot  or  loon  or  some 
thing — anything  that  could  be  shot  at.  Jonadab 
and  Peter  agreed  'twas  a  good  plan,  and  we 
matched  to  see  who'd  be  guide.  And  I  got  stuck, 
of  course;  my  luck  again. 

So  the  next  morning  we  started,  me  and  the 
Reverend  James  and  Clarissa  in  the  Greased 
Lightning,  Peter's  new  motor  launch.  First  part 
of  the  trip  that  Todd  man  done  nothing  but  ask 
questions  about  the  launch;  I  had  to  show  him 
how  to  start  it  and  steer  it,  and  the  land  knows 


io6       THJf  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

what  all.  Clarissa  set  around  doing  the  heavy  con 
temptuous  and  turning  up  her  nose  at  creation 
generally.  It  must  have  its  drawbacks,  this 
roosting  so  fur  above  the  common  flock;  seems 
to  me  I'd  be  thinking  all  the  time  of  the  bump 
that  was  due  me  if  I  got  shoved  off  the  perch. 

Well,  by  and  by  Lonesome  Huckleberries' 
shanty  hove  in  sight,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  it, 
although  I  had  to  answer  a  million  questions 
about  Lonesome  and  his  history. 

I  told  the  Todds  that,  so  fur  as  nationality  war 
concerned  he  was  a  little  of  everything,  like  a 
picked-up  dinner;  principally  Eyetalian  and 
Portugee,  I  cal'late,  with  a  streak  of  Gay  Head 
Injun.  His  real  name's  long  enough  to  touch 
bottom  in  the  ship  channel  at  high  tide,  so  folks 
got  to  calling  him  "Huckleberries"  because  he 
peddles  them  kind  of  fruit  in  summer.  Then 
he  mopes  around  so  with  nary  a  smile  on  his 
face,  that  it  seemed  right  to  tack  on  the  "Lone 
some."  So  "Lonesome  Huckleberries"  he's  been 
for  ten  years.  He  lives  in  the  patchwork  shanty 
on  the  beach  down  there,  he  is  deaf  and  dumb, 
drives  a  liver-colored,  balky  mare  that  no  one 
but  himself  and  his  daughter  Becky  can  handle, 
and  he  has  a  love  for  bad  rum  and  a  temper  that's 
landed  him  in  the  Wellmouth  lock-up  more  than 
once  or  twice.  He's  one  of  the  best  gunners 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    107 

alongshore  and  at  this  time  he  owned  a  flock  of 
live  decoys  that  he'd  refused  as  high  as  fifteen 
dollars  apiece  for.  I  told  all  this  and  a  lot  more. 

When  we  struck  the  beach,  Clarissa,  she  took 
her  paint  box  and  umbrella  and  mosquito  'int- 
ment,  and  the  rest  of  her  cargo,  and  went  off  by 
herself  to  "sketch."  She  was  great  on  "sketch 
ing,"  and  the  way  she'd  use  up  good  paint  and 
spile  nice  clean  paper  was  a  sinful  waste.  Afore 
she  went,  she  give  me  three  fathom  of  sailing 
orders  concerning  taking  care  of  "James."  You'd 
think  he  was  about  four  year  old;  made  me  feel 
like  a  hired  nurse. 

James  and  me  went  perusing  up  and  down 
that  beach  in  the  blazing  sun  looking  for  some 
thing  to  shoot.  We  went  'way  beyond  Lonesome's 
shanty,  but  there  wa'n't  nobody  to  home.  Lone 
some  himself,  it  turned  out  afterward,  was  up  to 
the  village  with  his  horse  and  wagon,  and  his 
daughter  Becky  was  over  in  the  wood  ;  on  the 
mainland  berrying.  Todd  was  a  cheerful  talker, 
but  limited.  His  favorite  remark  was:  "Oh, 
I  say,  my  deah  man."  That's  what  he  kept 
calling  me,  "my  deah  man."  Now,  my  name 
ain't  exactly  a  Claude  de  Montmorency  for  pret- 
tmess,  but  "Barzilla"  '11  fetch  me  alongside  a  good 
deal  quicker'n  "my  deah  man,"  I'll  tell  you  that. 

We  frogged  it  up  and  down  all  the  forenoon, 


io8       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

but  didn't  git  a  shot  at  nothing  but  one  stray 
"squawk"  that  had  come  over  from  the  Cedar 
Swamp.  I  told  James  'twas  a  canvasback,  and  he 
blazed  away  at  it,  but  missed  it  by  three  fathom, 
as  might  have  been  expected. 

Finally,  my  game  leg — rheumatiz,  you  under 
stand — begun  to  give  out.  So  I  flops  down  in 
the  shade  of  a  sand  bank  to  rest,  and  the  reverend 
goes  poking  off  by  himself. 

I  cal'late  I  must  have  fell  asleep,  for  when  I 
looked  at  my  watch  it  was  close  to  one  o'clock, 
and  time  for  us  to  be  getting  back  to  port.  I  got 
up  and  stretched  and  took  an  observation,  but 
further'n  Clarissa's  umbrella  on  the  skyline,  I 
didn't  see  anything  stirring.  Brother  James 
wa'n't  visible,  but  I  jedged  he  was  within  hailing 
distance.  You  can't  see  very  fur  on  that  point, 
there's  too  many  sand  hills  and  hummocks. 

I  started  over  toward  the  Greased  Lightning. 
I'd  gone  only  a  little  ways,  and  was  down  in  a 
gully  between  two  big  hummocks,  when  "Bang! 
bang!"  goes  both  barrels  of  a  shotgun,  and  that 
Todd  critter  busts  out  hollering  like  all  possessed. 

"'Hooray!'"  he  squeals,  in  that  squeaky  voice 
of  his.  "Hooray!  I've  got  'em!  I've  got  'em!" 

Thinks  I,  "What  in  the  nation  does  the  lunatic 
cal'late  he's  shot  ? "  And  I  left  my  own  gun 
laying  where  'twas  and  piled  no  over  the  edge  of 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    109 

that  sand  bank  like  a  cat  over  a  fence.     And  then 
I  see  a  sight. 

There  was  James,  hopping  up  and  down  in  the 
beach  grass,  squealing  like  a  Guinea  hen  with  a 
sore  throat,  and  waving  his  gun  with  one  wing — 
arm,  I  mean — and  there  in  front  of  him,  in  the 
foam  at  the  edge  of  the  surf,  was  two  ducks  as 
dead  as  Nebuchadnezzar — two  of  Lonesome 
Huckleberries'  best  decoy  ducks — ducks  he'd 
tamed  and  trained,  and  thought  more  of  than 
anything  else  in  this  world — except  rum,  maybe 
— and  the  rest  of  the  flock  was  digging  up  the 
beach  for  home  as  if  they'd  been  telegraped  for, 
and  squawking  "Fire!"  and  "Murder!" 

Well,  my  mind  was  in  a  kind  of  various  state, 
as  you  might  say,  for  a  minute.  'Course,  I'd 
known  about  Lonesome's  owning  them  decoys 
— told  Todd  about  'em,  too — but  I  hadn't  seen 
'em  nowhere  alongshore,  and  I  sort  of  cal'lated 
they  was  locked  up  in  Lonesome's  hen  house, 
that  being  his  usual  way  when  he  went  to  town. 
I  s'pose  likely  they'd  been  feeding  among  the 
beach  grass  somewheres  out  of  sight,  but  I  don't 
know  for  sartin  to  this  day.  And  I  didn't  stop 
to  reason  it  out  then,  neither.  As  Scriptur*  or 
George  Washin'ton  or  somebody  says,  "  'twas  a 
condition,  not  a  theory,"  I  was  afoul  of. 

"I've  got  'em!"  hollers  Todd,  grinning  till  I 


i io       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

thought  he'd  swaller  his  own  ears.  "I  shot  'em 
all  myself!" 

"You  everlasting "  I  begun,  but  I  didn't 

get  any  further.  There  was  a  rattling  noise 
behind  me,  and  I  turned,  to  see  Lonesome  Huckle 
berries  himself,  setting  on  the  seat  of  his  old  truck 
wagon  and  glaring  over  the  hammer  head  of  that 
balky  mare  of  his  straight  at  brother  Todd  and 
the  dead  decoys. 

For  a  minute  there  was  a  kind  of  tableau,  like 
them  they  have  at  church  fairs — all  four  of  us, 
including  the  mare,  keeping  still,  like  we  was 
frozen.  But  'twas  only  for  a  minute.  Then  il 
turned  into  the  liveliest  moving  picture  that  ever 
/  see.  Lonesome  couldn't  swear — being  a  dummy 
—but  if  ever  a  man  got  profane  with  his  eyes,  he 
did  right  then.  Next  thing  I  knew  he  tossed 
both  hands  into  the  air,  clawed  two  handfuls 
out  of  the  atmosphere,  reached  down  into  the  cart, 
grabbed  a  pitch-fork  and  piled  out  of  that  wagon 
and  after  Todd.  There  was  murder  coming  and 
I  could  see  it. 

"Run,  you  loon!"  I  hollers,  desperate. 

James  didn't  wait  for  any  advice.  He  didn't 
know  what  he'd  done,  I  cal'late,  but  he  jedged 
'twas  his  move.  He  dropped  his  gun  and  put 
down  the  shore  like  a  wild  man,  with  Lonesome 
after  him.  I  tried  to  foller,  but  my  rheumatiz 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    in 

was  too  big  a  handicap;    all  I  could  do  was  yell. 

You  never'd  have  picked  out  Todd  for  a  sprinter 
— not  to  look  at  him,  you  wouldn't — but  if  he 
didn't  beat  the  record  for  his  class  just  then  I'll 
eat  my  sou'wester.  He  fairly  flew,  but  Lonesome 
split  tacks  with  him  every  time,  and  kept  to 
wind'ard,  into  the  bargain.  When  they  went  out 
of  sight  amongst  the  sand  hills  'twas  anybody's 
race. 

I  was  scart.  I  knew  what  Lonesome's  temper 
was,  'specially  when  it  had  been  iled  with  some 
Wellmouth  Port  no-license  liquor.  He'd  been 
took  up  once  for  half  killing  some  boys  that  tor 
mented  him,  and  I  figgered  if  he  got  within  pitch 
fork  distance  of  the  Todd  critter  he'd  make  him 
the  leakiest  divine  that  ever  picked  a  text.  I 
commenced  to  hobble  back  after  my  gun.  It 
looked  bad  to  me. 

But  I'd  forgot  sister  Clarissa.  'Fore  I'd  limped 
fur  I  heard  her  calling  to  me. 

"Mr.  Wingate,"  says  she,  "get  in  here  at  once." 

There  she  was,  setting  on  the  seat  of  Lonesome's 
wagon,  holdin'  the  reins  and  as  cool  as  a  white 
frost  in  October. 

"  Get  in  at  once,"  says  she.  I  jedged  'twas  good 
advice,  and  took  it. 

"Proceed,"  says  she  to  the  mare.  "Git  dap!" 
says  I,  and  we  started.  When  we  rounded  the 


ii2      THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

sand  hill  we  see  the  race  in  the  distance.  Lone 
some  had  gained  a  p'int  or  two,  and  Todd  wa'n't 
more'n  four  pitchforks  in  the  lead. 

"Make  for  the  launch!"  I  whooped,  between 
my  hands. 

The  parson  heard  me  and  come  about  and  broke 
for  the  shore.  The  Greased  Lightning  had  swung 
out  about  the  length  of  her  anchor  rope,  and  the 
water  wa'n't  deep.  Todd  splashed  in  to  his 
waist  and  climbed  aboard.  He  cut  the  roding 
just  as  Lonesome  reached  tide  mark.  James, 
he  sees  it's  a  close  call,  and  he  shins  back  to  the 
engine,  reaching  it  exactly  at  the  time  when  the 
gent  with  the  pitchfork  laid  hands  on  the  rail. 
Then  the  parson  throws  over  the  switch — I'd 
shown  him  how,  you  remember — and  gives  the 
starting  wheel  a  full  turn. 

Well,  you  know  the  Greased  Lightning?  She 
don't  linger  to  say  farewell,  not  any  to  speak  of, 
she  don't.  And  this  time  she  jumped  like  the  cat 
that  lit  on  the  hot  stove.  Lonesome,  being  bal 
anced  with  his  knees  on  the  rail,  pitches  headfust 
into  the  cockpit.  Todd,  jumping  out  of  his  way, 
falls  overboard  backward.  Next  thing  anybody 
knew,  the  launch  was  scooting  for  blue  water 
like  a  streak  of  what  she  was  named  for,  and  the 
hunting  chaplain  was  churning  up  foam  like  a 
mill  wheel. 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    113 

I  yelled  more  orders  than  second  mate  on  a 
coaster.  Todd  bubbled  and  bellered.  Lone 
some  hung  on  to  the  rail  of  the  cockpit  and  let  his 
hair  stand  up  to  grow.  Nobody  was  cool  but 


HE  PITCHED  HEAD  FIRST  INTO  THE  COCKPIT. 

Clarissa,  and  she  was  an  iceberg.  She  had  her 
good  p'ints,  that  dd  maid  did,  drat  her! 

"James,"  she  calls,  "get  out  of  that  water  this 
minute  and  come  here!  This  instant,  mind!" 

James  minded.     He  paddled  ashore  and  hopped, 


ii4       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

dripping  like  a  dishcloth,  alongside  the  truck 
wagon. 

"Get  in!"  orders  Skipper  Clarissa.  He  done  it. 
"Now,"  says  the  lady,  passing  the  reins  over  to 
me,  "drive  us  home,  Mr.  Wingate,  before  that 
intoxicated  lunatic  can  catch  us." 

It  seemed  about  the  only  thing  to  do.  I  knew 
'twas  no  use  explaining  to  Lonesome  for  an  hour 
or  more  yet,  even  if  you  can  talk  finger  signs, 
which  part  of  my  college  training  has  been  neg 
lected.  'Twas  murder  he  wanted  at  the  present 
time.  I  had  some  sort  of  a  foggy  notion  that  I'd 
drive  along,  pick  up  the  guns  and  then  get  the 
Todds  over  to  the  hotel,  afterward  coming  back 
to  get  the  launch  and  pay  damages  to  Huckle 
berries.  I  cal'lated  he'd  be  more  reasonable  by 
that  time. 

But  the  mare  had  made  other  arrangements. 
When  I  slapped  her  with  the  end  of  the  reins  she 
took  the  bit  in  her  teeth  and  commenced  to  gallop. 
I  hollered  "Whoa!"  and  "Heave  to!"  and  "Be 
lay!"  and  everything  else  I  could  think  of,  but  she 
never  took  in  a  reef.  W7e  bumped  over  hum 
mocks  and  ridges,  and  every  time  we  done  it  we 
spilled  something  out  of  that  wagon.  First  'twas 
a  lot  of  huckleberry  pails,  then  a  basket  of  gro 
ceries  and  such,  then  a  tin  pan  with  some  potatoes 
in  it,  then  a  jug  done  up  in  a  blanket.  We  was 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR     115 

heaving  cargo  overboard  like  a  leaky  ship  in  a 
typhoon.  Out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye  I  see  Lone 
some,  well  out  to  sea,  heading  the  Greased  Light 
ning  for  the  beach. 

Clarissa  put  in  the  time  soothing  James,  who 
had  a  serious  case  of  the  scart-to-deaths,  and 
calling  me  an  "utter  barbarian"  for  driving  so 
fast.  Lucky  for  all  hands,  she  had  to  hold  on 
tight  to  keep  from  being  jounced  out,  'long  with 
the  rest  of  movables,  so  she  couldn't  take  the  reins. 
As  for  me,  I  wa'n't  paying  much  attention  to  her 
— 'twas  the  Cut-Through  that  was  disturbing 
my  mind. 

When  you  drive  down  to  Lonesome  P'int  you 
have  to  ford  the  "Cut-Through."  It's  -.  strip  of 
water  between  the  bay  and  the  ocear,  and  'tain't 
very  wide  nor  deep  at  low  tide.  But  the  tide  was 
coming  in  now,  and,  more'n  that,  the  mare  wa'n't 
headed  for  the  ford.  She  was  cuttin'  cross-lots 
on  her  own  hook,  and  wouldn't  answer  the  helm. 

We  struck  that  Cut-Through  about  a  hundred 
yards  east  of  the  ford,  and  in  two  shakes  we  was 
hub  deep  in  salt  water.  'Fore  the  Todds  could  do 
anything  but  holler  the  wagon  was  afloat  and  the 
mare  was  all  but  swimming.  But  she  kept  right 
on.  Bless  her,  you  couldn't  stop  her! 

We  crossed  the  first  channel  and  come  out  on  a 
flat  where  'twasn't  more'n  two  foot  deep  then.  I 


ii6       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

commenced  to  feel  better.  There  was  another 
channel  ahead  of  us,  but  I  figured  we'd  navigate 
that  same  as  we  had  the  first  one.  And  then  the 
most  outrageous  thing  happened. 

If  you'll  b'lieve  it,  that  pesky  mare  balked  and 
wouldn't  stir  another  step. 

And  there  we  was!  I  punched  and  kicked  and 
hollered,  but  all  that  stubborn  horse  would  do  was 
lay  her  ears  back  flat,  and  snarl  up  her  lip,  and 
look  round  at  us,  much  as  to  say:  "Now,  then, 
you  land  sharks,  I've  got  you  between  wind  and 
water!"  And  I  swan  to  man  if  it  didn't  look  as  if 
she  had! 

"Drive  on!"  says  Clarissa,  pretty  average 
vinegary.  "Haven't  you  made  trouble  enough 
for  us  already,  you  dreadful  man?  Drive  on!" 

Hadn't  /  made  trouble  enough/  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ? 

"You  want  to  drown  us!"  says  Miss  Todd, 
continuing  her  chatty  remarks.  "I  see  it  alh 
It's  a  plot  between  you  and  that  murderer.  I 
give  you  warning;  if  we  reach  the  hotel,  my 
brother  and  I  will  commence  suit  for  damages." 

My  temper's  fairly  long-suffering,  but  'twas 
raveling  some  by  this  time. 

"Commence  suit!"  I  says.  "I  don't  care 
what  you  commence,  if  you'll  commence  to  keep 
quiet  now!"  And  then  I  give  her  a  few  p'ints  as 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR     117 

to  what  her  brother  had  done,  heaving  in  some 
personal  flatteries  every  once  in  a  while  for  good 
measure. 

I'd  about  got  to  thirdly  when  James  give  a 
screech  and  p'inted.  And,  if  there  wa'n't  Lone 
some  in  the  launch,  headed  right  for  us,  and  com 
ing  a-b'iling!  He'd  run  her  along  abreast  of 
the  beach  and  turned  in  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  Cut-Through. 

You  never  in  your  life  heard  such  a  row  as  there 
was  in  that  wagon.  Clarissa  and  me  yelling  ta 
Lonesome  to  keep  off — forgitting  that  he  was 
stone  deef  and  dumb — and  James  vowing  that  he 
was  going  to  be  slaughtered  in  cold  blood.  And 
the  Greased  Lightning  p'inted  just  so  she'd  split 
that  cart  amidships,  and  coming — well,  you  know 
how  she  can  go. 

She  never  budged  until  she  was  within  ten  foot 
of  the  flat,  and  then  she  sheered  off  and  went 
past  in  a  wide  curve,  with  Lonesome  steering 
with  one  hand  and  shaking  his  pitchfork  at  Todd 
with  t'other.  And  such  faces  as  he  made-up! 
They'd  have  got  him  hung  in  any  court  in  the 
world. 

He  run  up  the  Cut-Through  a  little  ways,  and 
then  come  about,  and  back  he  comes  again,  never 
slacking  speed  a  mite,  and  running  close  to  the 
shoal  as  he  could  shave,  and  all  the  time  going 


Ji8         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE 

through  the  bloodiest  kind  ot  pantomimes.  And 
past  he  goes,  to  wheel  'round  and  commence  all 
over  again. 

Thinks  I,  "Why  don't  he  ease  up  and  lay  us 
aboard  ?  He's  got  all  the  weapons  there  is.  Is 
he  scart  ?  " 

And  then  it  come  to  me — the  reason  why.  He 
didn't  know  how  to  stop  her.  He  could  steel 
first  rate,  being  used  to  sailboats,  but  an  electric 
auto  launch  was  a  new  ideal  for  him,  and  he 
didn't  understand  her  works.  And  he  dastn't 
run  her  aground  at  the  speed  she  was  making; 
'twould  have  finished  her  and,  more'n  likely,  him, 
too. 

I  don't  s'pose  there  ever  was  another  mess  just 
like  it  afore  or  sence.  Here  was  us,  stranded 
with  a  horse  we  couldn't  make  go,  being  chased 
.by  a  feller  who  was  run  away  with  in  a  boat  he 
couldn't  stop! 

Just  as  I'd  about  give  up  hope,  I  heard  some- 
tody  calling  from  the  beach  behind  us.  I  turned, 
and  there  was  Becky  Huckleberries,  Lonesome's 
daughter.  She  had  the  dead  decoys  by  the  legs 
in  one  hand. 

"Hi!"  says  she. 

"Hi!"  says  I.  "How  do  you  get  this  giraffe 
of  yours  under  way  ?  ' 

She  held  up  the  decoys. 


THE  MARE  AND  7 HE  MOTOR    119 

"Who  kill-a  dem  ducks?"  says  she. 

I  p'inted  to  the  reverend.  "He  did,"  says  I. 
And  then  I  cal'late  I  must  have  had  one  of  them 
things  they  call  an  inspiration.  "And  he's  willing 
to  pay  for  'em,  I  says. 

"Pay  thirty-five  dolla  ?"  says  she. 

"You  bet!"  says  I. 

But  I'd  forgot  Clarissa.  She  rose  up  in  that 
waterlogged  cart  like  a  Statue  of  Liberty.  "Never!" 
says  she.  "We  will  never  submit  to  such  extor 
tion.  We'll  drown  first!" 

Becky  heard  her.  She  didn't  look  disappointed 
nor  nothing.  Just  turned  and  begun  to  walk  up 
the  beach.  "All  right,"  says  she;  '>o'-by." 

The  Todds  stood  it  for  a  jiffy.  Then  James 
give  in.  "I'll  pay  it!  "he  hollers.  "I'll  pay  it!" 

Even  then  Becky  didn't  smile.  She  just  come 
about  again  and  walked  back  to  the  shore.  Then 
she  took  up  that  tin  pan  and  one  of  the  potaters 
we'd  jounced  out  of  the  cart. 

"Hi,  Rosa!"  she  hollers.  That  mare  turned 
her  head  and  looked.  And,  for  the  first  time 
sence  she  hove  anchor  on  that  flat,  the  critter  un 
furled  her  ears  and  histed  'em  to  the  masthead. 

"Hi,  Rosa!"  says  Becky  again,  and  begun  to 
pound  the  pan  with  the  potater.  And  I  give  you 
my  word  that  that  mare  started  up,  turned  the 
wagon  around  nice  as  could  be,  and  begun  to 


i2o       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

swim  ashore.  When  we  got  where  the  critter's 
legs  touched  bottom,  Becky  remarks:  "Whoa!" 

"Here!"  I  yells,  "what  did  you  do  that  for  ?  " 

"Pay  thirty-five  dolla  nowy"  says  she.  She 
was  bus'ness,  that  girl. 

Todd  got  his  wallet  from  under  hatches  and 
counted  out  the  thirty-five,  keeping  one  eye  on 
Lonesome,  who  was  swooping  up  and  down  in 
the  launch  looking  as  if  he  wanted  to  cut  in,  but 
dasn't.  I  tied  the  bills  to  my  jack-knife,  to  give 
'em  weight,  and  tossed  the  whole  thing  ashore. 
Becky,  she  counted  the  cash  and  stowed  it  away 
in  her  apron  pocket. 

"All  right,"  says  she.  "Hi,  Rosa!"  The 
potater  and  pan  performance  begun  again,  and 
Rosa  picked  up  her  hoofs  and  dragged  us  to  dry 
land.  And  it  sartinly  felt  good  to  the  feet 

"Say,"  I  says,  "Becky,  it's  none  of  my  affairs, 
as  I  know  of,  but  is  that  the  way  you  usually  start 
that  horse  of  yours  ?  " 

She  said  it  was.     And  Rosa  ate  the  potater. 

Becky  asked  me  how  to  stop  the  launch,  and  I 
told  her.  She  made  a  lot  of  finger  signs  to  Lone 
some,  and  inside  of  five  minutes  the  Greased 
Lightning  was  anchored  in  front  of  us.  Old  man 
Huckleberries  was  still  hankering  to  interview 
Todd  with  the  pitchfork,  but  Becky  settled  that 
all  right.  She  jumped  in  front  of  him,  and  her 


THE  MARE  AND  THE  MOTOR    121 

eyes  snapped  and  her  feet  stamped  and  her  fingers 
flew.  And  'twould  have  done  you  good  to  see  her 
dad  shrivel  up  and  get  humble.  I  always  had 
thought  that  a  woman  wasn't  much  good  as  a 
boss  of  the  roost  unless  she  could  use  her  tongue,, 
but  Becky  showed  me  my  mistake.  Well,  it's 
live  and  1'arn. 

Then  Miss  Huckleberries  turned  to  us  and 
smiled. 

"All  right,"  says  she;    "goo'-by." 

Them  Todds  took  the  train  for  the  city  next 
morning.  I  drove  'em  to  the  depot.  James  was 
kind  of  glum,  but  Clarissa  talked  for  two.  Her 
opinion  of  the  Cape  and  Capers,  'specially  me, 
was  decided.  The  final  blast  was  just  as  "he  was 
climbing  the  car  steps. 

"Of  all  the  barbarians,"  says  she;  "utter, 
uncouth,  murdering  barbarians  in " 

She  stopped,  thinking  for  a  word,  I  s'pose.  I 
didn't  feel  that  I  could  improve  on  Becky  Huckle? 
berries  conversation  much,  so  I  says: 

"bright!    Goo'-by!" 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR 

One  nice  moonlight  evening  me  and  Cap'n 
Jonadab  and  Peter  T.,  having,  for  a  wonder,  a 
little  time  to  ourselves  and  free  from  boarders, 
was  setting  on  the  starboard  end  cf  the  piazza, 
smoking,  when  who  should  heave  in  sight  but 
Cap'n  Eri  Hedge  and  Obed  Nickerson.  They'd 
come  over  from  Orham  that  day  on  some  fish 
business  and  had  drove  down  to  Wellmouth  Port 
on  purpose  to  put  up  at  the  Old  Home  for  the 
night  and  shake  hands  with  me  and  Jonadab. 
We  was  mighty  glad  to  see  'em,  now  I  tell  you. 

They'd  had  supper  up  at  the  fish  man's  at  the 
Centre,  so  after  Peter  T.  had  gone  in  and  fetched 
out  a  handful  of  cigars,  we  settled  back  for  a  good 
talk.  They  wanted  to  know  how  business  was 
and  we  told  'em.  After  a  spell  somebody  men 
tioned  the  Todds  and  I  spun  my  yarn  about  the 
balky  mare  and  the  Greased  Lightning.  It  tickled 
'em  most  to  death,  especially  Obed. 

"Ho,  ho!"  says  he.  "That's  funny,  ain't  it. 
Them  power  boats  are  great  things,  ain't  they. 

135 


126       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

I  had  an  experience  in  one — or,  rather,  in  two — 
a  spell  ago  when  I  was  living  over  to  West  Bay- 
port.  My  doings  was  with  gasoline  though,  not 
electricity.  'Twas  something  of  an  experience. 
Maybe  you'd  like  to  hear  it." 

"'Way  I  come  to  be  over  there  on  the  bay  side 
of  the  Cape  was  like  this.  West  Bayport,  where 
my  shanty  and  the  big  Davidson  summer  place 
and  the  Saunders'  house  was,  used  to  be  called 
Punkhassett — which  is  Injun  for  'The  last  place 
the  Almighty  made' — and  if  you've  read  the 
circulars  of  the  land  company  that's  booming 
Punkhassett  this  year,  you'll  remember  that  the 
principal  attraction  of  them  diggings  is  the  'mag 
nificent  water  privileges.'  'Twas  the  water  priv 
ileges  that  had  hooked  me.  Clams  was  thick 
on  the  flats  at  low  tide,  and  fish  was  middling 
plenty  in  the  bay.  I  had  two  weirs  set;  one  a 
deep-water  weir,  a  half  mile  beyond  the  bar,  and 
t'other  just  inside  of  it  that  I  could  drive  out  to  at 
low  water.  A  two-mile  drive  'twas,  too;  the  tide 
goes  out  a  long  ways  over  there.  I  had  a  power 
boat — seven  and  a  half  power  gasoline — that  I 
kept  anchored  back  of  my  nighest-in  weir  in  deep 
water,  and  a  little  skiff  on  shore  to  row  off  to  her 
in. 

"The  yarn  begins  one  morning  when  I  went 
down  to  the  shore  after  clams.  I'd  noticed 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   127 

the  signs  then.  They  was  stuck  up  right  acrost 
the  path:  'No  trespassing  on  these  premises,' 
and  'All  persons  are  forbidden  crossing  this 
property,  under  penalty  of  the  law.'  But  land! 
Fd  used  that  short-cut  ever  sence  I'd  been  in  Bay- 
port — which  was  more'n  a  year — and  old  man 
Davidson  and  me  was  good  friends,  so  I  cal'lated 
the  signs  was  intended  for  boys,  and  hove  ahead 
without  paying  much  attention  to  'em.  'Course 
I  knew  that  the  old  man — and,  what  was  more 
important,  the  old  lady — had  gone  abroad  and 
that  the  son  was  expected  down,  but  that  didn't 
come  to  me  at  the  time,  neither. 

"I  was  heading  for  home  about  eight,  with  two 
big  dreeners  full  of  clams,  and  had  just  climbed 
the  bluff  and  swung  over  the  fence  into  the  path, 
when  somebody  remarks :  '  Here,  you ! '  I  jumped 
and  turned  round,  and  there,  beating  across  the 
field  in  my  direction,  was  an  exhibit  which,  it 
turned  out  later,  was  ticketed  with  the  name  of 
Alpheus  Vandergraff  Parker  Davidson — 'Allie* 
for  short. 

"And  Allie  was  a  good  deal  of  an  exhibit,  in  his 
way.  His  togs  were  cut  to  fit  his  spars,  and  he 
carried  'em  well — no  wrinkles  at  the  peak  or  sag 
along  the  boom.  His  figurehead  was  more'n 
average  regular,  and  his  hair  was  combed  real 
nice — the  part  in  the  middle  of  it  looked  like  it 


128       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

had  been  laid  out  with  a  plumb-line.  Also,  he 
had  on  white  shoes  and  glory  hallelujah  stockings. 
Altogether,  he  was  alone  with  the  price  of  admis 
sion,  and  what  some  folks,  I  s'pose,  would  have 
called  a  handsome  enough  young  feller.  But  I 
didn't  like  his  eyes;  they  looked  kind  of  tired, 
as  if  they'd  seen  'bout  all  there  was  to  see  of  some 
kinds  of  life.  Twenty-four  year  old  eyes  hadn't 
ought  to  look  that  way. 

"But  I  wasn't  interested  in  eyes  jest  then.  All 
1  could  look  at  was  teeth.  There  they  was,  a 
lovely  set  of  'em,  in  the  mouth  of  the  ugliest  speci 
men  of  a  bow-legged  bulldog  that  ever  tried  to 
hang  itself  at  the  end  of  a  chain.  Allie  was 
holding  t'other  end  of  the  chain  with  both  hands, 
and  they  were  full,  at  that.  The  dog  stood  up 
on  his  hind  legs  and  pawed  the  air  with  his  front 
ones,  and  his  tongue  hung  out  and  dripped.  You 
could  see  he  was  yearning,  just  dying,  to  taste 
of  a  middle-aged  longshoreman  by  the  name  of 
Obed  Nickerson.  I  stared  at  the  dog,  and  he 
stared  at  me.  I  don't  know  which  of  us  was  the 
most  interested. 

"'Here,  you!'  says  Allie  again.  'What  are 
you  crossing  this  field  for  ?  ' 

"I  heard  him,  but  I  was  too  busy  counting  teeth 
to  pay  much  attention.  'You  ought  to  feed  that 
dog,'  I  says,  absent-minded  like.  'He's  hungry/ 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   129 

"'Humph!'  says  he.  'Well,  maybe  he'll  be 
fed  in  a  minute.  Did  you  see  those  signs  ?" 

"'Yes/  says  I;  'I  saw  'em.  They're  real  neat 
and  pretty.' 

"'Pretty!'  He  fairly  choked,  he  was  so  mad. 
'Why,  you  cheeky,  long-legged  jay,'  he  says, 
Til What  are  you  crossing  this  field  for?  ' 

"'So's  to  get  to  t'other  side  of  it,  I  guess,'  says 
I.  I  was  riling  up  a  bit  myself.  You  see,  when 
a  feller's  been  mate  of  a  schooner,  like  I've  been 
in  my  day,  it  don't  come  easy  to  be  called  names. 
It  looked  for  a  minute  as  if  Allie  was  going  to  have 
a  fit,  but  he  choked  it  down. 

"Look  here!'  he  says.  'I  know  who  you  are. 
Just  because  the  gov'ner  has  been  soft  enough  to 
let  you  countrymen  walk  all  over  him,  it  don't 
foller  that  I'm  going  to  be.  I'm  boss  here  for 

this    summer.      My  name's '      He  told    me 

his  name,  and  how  his  dad  had  turned  the 
place  over  to  him  for  the  season,  and  a  lot 
more.  'I  put  those  signs  up,'  he  says,  'to 
keep  just  such  fellers  as  you  are  off  my  prop 
erty.  They  mean  that  you  ain't  to  cross  the 
field.  Understand  ?  ' 

"I  understood.  I  was  mad  clean  through,  but 
I'm  law-abiding,  generally  speaking.  'All  right,' 
I  says,  picking  up  my  dreeners  and  starting  for  the 
farther  fence;  'I  won't  cross  it  again.' 


130       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

'"You  won't  cross  it  now/  says  he.  'Go  back 
where  you  come  from.' 

"That  was  a  grain  too  much.  I  told  him  a  few 
things.  He  didn't  wait  for  the  benediction. 
'Take  him,  Prince!'  he  says,  dropping  the  chain. 


I    i 


HE  FAIRLY  SOBBED  WITH  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"Prince  was  willing.  He  fetched  a  kind  of 
combination  hurrah  and  growl  and  let  out  for  me 
full-tilt.  I  don't  feed  good  fresh  clams  to  dogs  as 
a  usual  thing,  but  that  mouth  had  to  be  filled. 
I  waited  till  he  was  almost  on  me,  and  then  I  let 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   131 

drive  with  one  of  the  dreeners.  Prince  and  a 
couple  of  pecks  of  clams  went  up  in  the  air  like 
a  busted  bomb-shell,  and  I  broke  for  the  fence 
I'd  started  for.  I  hung  on  to  the  other  dreener, 
though,  just  out  of  principle. 

"But  I  had  to  let  go  of  it,  after  all.  The  dog 
come  out  of  the  collision  looking  like  a  plate  of 
scrambled  eggs,  and  took  after  me  harder'n  ever, 
shedding  shells  and  clam  juice  something  scandal 
ous.  When  he  was  right  at  my  heels  I  turned 
and  fired  the  second  dreener.  And,  by  Judas,  I 
missed  him! 

"Well,  principle's  all  right,  but  there's  times 
when  even  the  best  of  us  has  to  hedge.  I  simply 
couldn't  reach  the  farther  fence,  so  I  made  a  quick 
jibe  and  put  for  the  one  behind  me.  And  I 
couldn't  make  that,  either.  Prince  was  taking 
mouthfuls  of  my  overalls  for  appetizers.  There 
was  a  little  pine-tree  in  the  lot,  and  I  give  one 
jump  and  landed  in  the  middle  of  it.  I  went  up 
the  rest  of  the  way  like  I'd  forgot  something,  and 
then  I  clung  onto  the  top  of  that  tree  and  panted 
and  swung  round  in  circles,  while  the  dog  hopped 
up  and  down  on  his  hind  legs  and  fairly  sobbed 
with  disapp'intment. 

"Allie  was  rolling  on  the  grass.  'Oh,  dear  me!' 
says  he,  between  spasms.  'That  was  the  funniest 
thing  I  ever  saw.' 


132       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"I'd  seen  lots  funnier  things  myself,  but  'twa'n't 
worth  while  to  argue.  Besides,  I  was  busy  hang 
ing  onto  that  tree.  'Twas  an  awful  little  pine  and 
the  bendiest  one  I  ever  climbed.  Allie  rolled 
around  a  while  longer,  and  then  he  gets  up  and 
comes  over. 

"'Well,  Reuben/  says  he,  lookin'  up  at  me  on 
the  roost,  'you're  a  good  deal  handsomer  up  there 
than  you  are  on  the  ground.  I  guess  I'll  let  you 
stay  there  for  a  while  as  a  lesson  to  you.  Watch 
him,  Prince/  And  off  he  walks. 

'You  everlasting  clothes-pole/   I    yells  after 
him,  'if  it  wa'n't  for  that  dog  of  yours  I'd ' 

"He  turns  around  kind  of  lazy  and  says  he: 
'Oh,  you've  got  no  kick  coming/  he  says.  ' I  allow 
you  to — er — ornament  my  tree,  and  'tain't  every 
hayseed  I'd  let  do  that/ 

"And  away  he  goes;  and  for  an  hour  that  had 
no  less'n  sixty  thousand  minutes  in  it  I  clung  to 
that  tree  like  a  green  apple,  with  Prince  setting 
open-mouthed  underneath  waiting  for  me  to  get 
ripe  and  drop. 

"Just  as  I  was  figgering  that  I  was  growing 
fast  to  the  limb,  I  heard  somebody  calling  my 
name.  I  unglued  my  eyes  from  the  dog  and 
looked  up,  and  there,  looking  over  the  fence  that 
I'd  tried  so  hard  to  reach,  was  Barbara  Saunders, 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   133 

Cap'n  Eben  Saunders'  girl,  who  lived  in  the 
house  next  door  to  mine. 

"Barbara  was  always  a  pretty  girl,  and  that 
morning  she  looked  prettier  than  ever,  with  her 
black  hair  blowing  every  which  way  and  her 
black  eyes  snapping  full  of  laugh.  Barbara 
Saunders  in  a  white  shirt-waist  and  an  old,  mended 
skirt  could  give  ten  lengths  in  a  beauty  race  to  any 
craft  in  silks  and  satins  that  ever  /  see,  and  beat 
'em  hull  down  at  that. 

"'Why,  Mr.  Nickerson!'  she  calls.  'What 
are  you  doing  up  in  that  tree  ?  ' 

"That  was  kind  of  a  puzzler  to  answer  offhand, 
and  I  don't  know  what  I'd  have  said  if  friend 
Allie  hadn't  hove  in  sight  just  then  and  saved  me 
the  trouble.  He  come  strolling  out  of  the  woods 
with  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  and  when  he  saw 
Barbara  he  stopped  short  and  looked  and  looked 
at  her.  And  for  a  minute  she  looked  at  him, 
and  the  red  come  up  in  her  cheeks  like  a  sunrise. 
"Beg  pardon,  I'm  sure/  says  Allie,  tossing 
away  the  cigarette.  'May  I  ask  if  that — er — 
deep-sea  gentleman  in  my  tree  is  a  friend  of 
yours  ?  ' 

"Barbara  kind  of  laughed  and  dropped  her 
eyes,  and  said  why,  yes,  I  was. 

"By  Jove!  he's  luckier  than  I  thought/  says 
Allie,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  her  face.  'And 


134       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSED 

what  do  they  call  him,  please,  when  they  want 
him  to  answer  ?  '  That's  what  he  asked,  though, 
mind  you,  he'd  said  he  knew  who  I  was  when  he 
first  saw  me. 

"It's  Mr.  Nickerson/  says  Barbara.  'He 
lives  in  that  house  there.  The  one  this  side  of 
ours.' 

"Oh,  a  neighbor!  That's  different.  Awfully 
sorry,  I'm  sure.  Prince,  come  here.  Er — Nick 
erson,  for  the  lady's  sake  we'll  call  it  off.  You 
may — er — vacate  the  perch/ 

"  I  waited  till  he'd  got  a  clove-hitch  onto  Prince. 
He  had  to  give  him  one  or  two  welts  over  the  head 
'fore  he  could  do  it;  the  dog  acted  like  he'd  been 
cheated.  Then  I  pried  myself  loose  from  that 
blessed  limb  and  shinned  down  to  solid  ground. 
My!  but  I  was  b'iling  inside.  'Taint  pleasant  to 
be  made  a  show  afore  folks,  but  'twas  the  feller's 
condescending  what-excuse-you-got-for-living  man 
ners  that  riled  me  most. 

"  I  picked  up  what  was  left  of  the  dreeners  and 
walked  over  to  the  fence.  That  field  was  just 
sowed,  as  you  might  say,  with  clams.  If  they 
ever  sprouted  'twould  make  a  tip-top  codfish 
pasture. 

'You  see,'  says  Allie,  talking  to  Barbara; 
'the  gov'nor  told  me  he'd  been  plagued  with 
trespassers,  so  I  thought  I'd  give  'em  a  lesson. 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   135 

But  neighbors,  when  they're  scarce  as  ours  are, 
ought  to  be  friends.     Don't  you  think  so,  Miss 

?    Er — Nickerson,'  says  he,  'introduce  me 

to  our  other  neighbor.' 

"  So  I  had  to  do  it,  though  I  didn't  want  to.  He 
turned  loose  some  soft  soap  about  not  realizing 
afore  what  a  beautiful  place  the  Cape  was.  I 
thought  'twas  time  to  go. 

"'But  Miss  Saunders  hasn't  answered  my 
question  yet,'  says  Allie.  *  Don't  you  think 
neighbors  ought  to  be  friends,  Miss  Saunders  ?  ' 

"Barbara  blushed  and  laughed  and  said  she 
guessed  they  had.  Then  she  walked  away.  I 
started  to  follow,  but  Allie  stopped  me. 

"Look  here,  Nickerson,'  says  he.  'I  let  you 
off  this  time,  but  don't  try  it  again;  do  you  hear  ?  * 

"I  hear,'  says  I.  'You  and  that  hyena  of 
yours  have  had  all  the  fun  this  morning.  Some 
day,  maybe,  the  boot'll  be  on  t'other  leg.' 

"Barbara  was  waiting  for  me.  We  walked 
on  together  without  speaking  for  a  minute.  Then 
I  says,  to  myself  like :  '  So  that's  old  man  David 
son's  son,  is  it  ?  Well,  he's  the  prize  peach  in  the 
crate,  he  is!' 

"Barbara  was  thinking,  too.  'He's  very  nice 
looking,  isn't  he?'  says  she.  'Twas  what  you'd 
expect  a  girl  to  say,  but  I  hated  to  hear  her  say  it. 
I  went  home  and  marked  a  big  chalk-mark  on  the 


136       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

inside  of  my  shanty  door,  signifying  that  I  had  a 
debt  so  pay  some  time  or  other. 

"So  that's  how  I  got  acquainted  with  Allie 
V.  P.  Davidson.  And,  what's  full  as  important, 
that's  how  he  got  acquainted  with  Barbara 
Saunders. 

"Shutting  an  innocent  canary-bird  up  in  the 
same  room  with  a  healthy  cat  is  a  more  or  less 
risky  proposition  for  the  bird.  Same  way,  if  you 
take  a  pretty  country  girl  who's  been  to  sea  with 
her  dad  most  of  the  time  and  tied  to  the  apron- 
strings  of  a  deef  old  aunt  in  a  house  three  miles 
from  nowhere — you  take  that  girl,  I  say,  and  then 
fetch  along,  as  next-door  neighbor,  a  good-looking 
young  shark  like  Allie,  with  a  hogshead  of  money 
and  a  blame  sight  too  much  experience,  and 
that's  a  risky  proposition  for  the  girl. 

"Allie  played  his  cards  well;  he'd  set  into  a 
good  many  similar  games  afore,  I  judge.  He 
begun  by  doing  little  favors  for  Phoebe  Ann — she 
was  the  deef  aunt  I  mentioned — and  'twa'n't 
long  afore  he  was  as  solid  with  the  old  lady  as  a 
kedge-anchor.  He  had  a  way  of  dropping  into 
the  Saunders  house  for  a  drink  of  water  or  a  slab 
of  'that  delicious  apple-pie,'  and  with  every  drop 
he  got  better  acquainted  with  Barbara.  Cap'n 
Eben  was  on  a  v'yage  to  Buenos  Ayres  and 
wouldn't  be  home  till  fall,  'twa'n't  likely. 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   137 

**I  didn't  see  a  great  deal  of  what  was  going 
on,  being  too  busy  with  my  fishweirs  and  clam 
ming  to  notice.  Allie  and  me  wa'n't  exactly 
David  and  Jonathan,  owing,  I  judge,  to  our 
informal  introduction  to  each  other.  But  I  used 
to  see  him  scooting  'round  in  his  launch — twenty- 
five  foot,  she  was,  with  a  little  mahogany  cabin 
and  the  land  knows  what — and  the  servants  at 
the  big  house  told  me  yarns  about  his  owning 
a  big  steam-yacht,  with  a  sailing-master  and 
crew,  which  was  cruising  round  Newport  some- 
wheres. 

"But,  busy  as  I  was,  I  see  enough  to  make  me 
worried.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  whispering 
over  the  Saunders  back  gate  after  supper,  and 
once,  when  I  come  up  over  the  bluff  from  the 
shore  sudden,  they  was  sitting  together  on  a  rock 
and  he  had  his  arm  round  her  waist.  I  dropped 
a  hint  to  Phoebe  Ann,  but  she  shut  me  up  quicker'n 
a  snap-hinge  match-box.  Allie  had  charmed 
'auntie'  all  right.  And  so  it  drifted  along  till 
September. 

"One  Monday  evening  about  the  middle  of  the 
month  I  went  over  to  Phoebe  Ann's  to  borrow 
some  matches.  Barbara  wasn't  in — gone  out  to 
lock  up  the  hens,  or  some  such  fool  excuse.  But 
Phoebe  was  busting  full  of  joy.  Cap'n  Eben  had 
arrived  in  New  York  a  good  deal  sooner'n  was  ex- 


138       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

pected  and  would  be  home  on  Thursday  morning. 

"'He's  going  from  Boston  to  Provincetown 
on  the  steamer,  Wednesday,'  says  Phoebe.  'He's 
got  some  business  over  there.  Then  he's  coming 
home  from  Provincetown  on  the  early  train. 
Ain't  that  splendid  ?' 

"I  thought  'twas  splendid  for  more  reasons 
than  one,  and  I  went  out  feeling  good.  But  as  I 
come  round  the  corner  of  the  house  there  was 
somebody  by  the  back  gate,  and  I  heard  a  girl's 
voice  sayin':  'Oh,  no,  no!  I  can't!  I  can't!' 

"If  I  hadn't  trod  on  a  stick  maybe  I'd  hive 
heard  more,  but  the  racket  broke  up  the  party. 
Barbara  come  hurrying  past  me  into  the  house, 
and  by  the  light  from  the  back  door,  I  see  her 
face.  'Twas  white  as  a  clam-shell,  and  she 
looked  frightened  to  death. 

"Thinks  I:  'That's  funny!  It's  a  providence 
Eben's  coming  home  so  soon.' 

"And  the  next  day  I  saw  her  again,  and  she 
was  just  as  white  and  wouldn't  look  me  in  the 
eye.  Wednesday,  though,  I  felt  better,  for  the 
servants  on  the  Davidson  place  t-4d  me  that 
Allie  had  gone  to  Boston  on  the  morning  train 
to  be  gone  for  good,  and  that  they  was  going  to 
shut  up  the  house  and  haul  up  the  launch  in  a 
day  or  so. 

"Early  that  afternoon*  as  I  was  coming  from 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   139 

my  shanty  to  the  bluff  on  my  way  to  the  shore 
after  dinner,  I  noticed  a  steam-yacht  at  anchor 
two  mile  or  so  off  the  bar.  She  must  have  come 
there  sence  I  got  in,  and  I  wondered  whose  she 
was.  Then  I  see  a  dingey  with  three  men  aboard 
rowing  in,  and  I  walked  down  the  beach  to  meet 


'em. 


"Sometimes  I  think  there  is  such  things  as 
what  old  Parson  Danvers  used  to  call  'dispen 
sations/  This  was  one  of  'em.  There  was  a 
feller  in  a  uniform  cap  steering  the  dingey,  and, 
b'lieve  it  or  not,  I'll  be  everlastingly  keelhauled 
if  he  didn't  turn  out  to  be  Ben  Henry,  who  was 
second  mate  with  me  on  the  old  Seafoam.  He 
was  surprised  enough  to  see  me,  and  glad,  too, 
but  he  looked  sort  of  worried. 

'"Well,  Ben,'  says  I,  after  we  had  shook  hands, 
'well,  Ben,'  I  says,  'my  shanty  ain't  exactly  the 
United  States  Hotel  for  gilt  paint  and  bill  of  fare, 
but  I  have  got  eight  or  ten  gallons  of  home-made 
cherry  rum  and  some  terbacker  and  an  extry 
pipe.  You  fall  into  my  wake.' 

"'I'd  like  to,  Obed,'  he  says;  'I'd  like  to 
almighty  well,  but  I've  got  to  go  up  to  the  store* 
if  there  is  such  a  thing  in  this  metropolus,  and 
buy  some  stuff  that  I  forgot  to  get  in  Newport. 
You  see,  we  got  orders  to  sail  in  a  tearing  hurry, 
and ' 


no        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE 

"Send  one  of  them  fo'mast  hands  to  the 
store/  says  I.  'You  got  to  come  with  me.' 

"He  hemmed  and  hawed  a  while,  but  he  was 
dry,  and  I  shook  the  cherry-rum  jug  at  him, 
figuratively  speaking,  so  finally  he  give  in. 

'You  buy  so  and  so/  says  he  to  his  men, 
passing  'em  a  ten-dollar  bill.  'And  mind,  you 
don't  know  nothing.  If  anybody  asks,  remem 
ber  that  yacht's  the  Mermaid — M-U-R-M-A-D-Ey 
he  says,  'and  she  belongs  to  Mr.  Jones,  of  Mobile, 
Georgia.' 

"So  the  men  went  away,  and  me  and  Ben 
headed  for  my  shanty,  where  we  moored  abreast 
of  each  other  at  the  table,  with  a  jug  between  us 
for  a  buoy,  so's  to  speak.  We  talked  old  times 
and  spun  yarns,  and  the  tide  went  out  in  the  jug 
consider'ble  sight  faster  than  'twas  ebbing  on 
the  flats.  After  a  spell  I  asked  him  about  the 
man  that  owned  the  yacht. 

"'Who?  Oh— er— Brown?'  he  says.  'Why, 
he's ' 

"'Brown?'  says  I.  'Thought  you  said  'twas 
Jones  ?  ' 

"Well,  that  kind  of  upset  him,  and  he  took 
some  cherry-rum  to  grease  his  memory.  Then  I 
asked  more  questions  and  he  tried  to  answer 
'em,  and  got  worse  tangled  than  ever.  Finally 
I  had  to  laugh. 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   141 

"'Look  here,  Ben,'  says  I.  'You  can't  fetch 
port  on  that  tack.  The  truth's  ten  mile  astern 
of  you.  Who  does  own  that  yacht,  anyway  ? ' 

"He  looked  at  me  mighty  solemn — cherry- 
rum  solemn.  'Obed,'  he  says,  'you're  a  good 
feller.  Don't  you  give  me  away,  now,  or  I'll  lose 
my  berth.  The  man  that  owns  that  yacht's 
named  Davidson,  and  he's  got  a  summer  place 
right  in  this  town.' 

"Davidson!'  says  I.  'Davidson?  Not  young 
Allie  Davidson  ?  ' 

"'That's  him,'  says  he.  'And  he's  the  blankety 
blankest  meanest  low-down  cub  on  earth.  There! 
I  feel  some  better.  Give  me  another  drink  to 
take  the  taste  of  him  out  of  my  mouth.' 

"But  young  Davidson's  gone  to  Boston/  I 
says.  'Went  this  morning.' 

"'That  be  hanged!'  says  Ben.  'All  I  know 
is  that  I  got  a  despatch  from  him  at  Newport  on 
Monday  afternoon,  telling  me  to  have  the  yacht 
abreast  this  town  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night, 
'cause  he  was  coming  off  to  her  then  in  his  launch 
with  a  friend.  Friend!'  And  he  laughed  and 
winked  his  starboard  eye. 

"I  didn't  say  much,  being  too  busy  thinking, 
but  Ben  went  on  telling  about  other  cruises  with 
'friends.'  Oh,  a  steam-yacht  can  be  a  first- 
class  imitation  of  hell  if  the  right  imp  owns  her. 


142       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Henry  got  speaking  of  one  time  down  along  the 
Maine  coast. 

"'But/  says  I,  referring  to  what  he  was  telling, 
'if  she  was  such  a  nice  girl  and  come  from  such 
nice  folks,  how ' 

"'How  do  I  know?'  says  he.  'Promises  to 
marry  and  such  kind  of  lies,  I  s'pose.  And  the 
plain  fact  is  that  he's  really  engaged  to  marry  a 
swell  girl  in  Newport.' 

"He  told  me  her  name  and  a  lot  more  about 
her.  I  tried  to  remember  the  most  of  it,  but 
my  head  was  whirling — and  not  from  cherry 
rum,  either.  All  I  could  think  was:  'Obed, 
it's  up  to  you!  You've  got  to  do  something.' 

"I  was  mighty  glad  when  the  sailors  hailed 
from  the  shore  and  Ben  had  to  go.  He  'most 
cried  when  he  said  good-by,  and  went  away 
stepping  high  and  bringing  his  heels  down  hard. 
I  watched  the  dingey  row  off — the  tide  was  out. 
so  there  was  barely  water  for  her  to  get  clear — 
and  then  I  went  back  home  to  think.  And  I 
thought  all  the  afternoon. 

"Two  and  two  made  four,  anyway  I  could 
add  it  up,  but  'twas  all  suspicion  and  no  real 
proof,  that  was  the  dickens  of  it.  I  couldn't 
speak  to  Phoebe  Ann;  she  wouldn't  b'lieve  me 
if  I  did.  I  couldn't  telegraph  Cap'n  Eben  at 
Provincetown  to  come  home  that  night;  I'd 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   143 

have  to  tell  him  the  whole  thing  and  I  knew  his 
temper,  so,  for  Barbara's  sake,  'twouldn't  do.  I 
couldn't  be  at  the  shore  to  stop  the  launch  leaving. 
What  right  had  I  to  stop  another  man's  launch, 
even 

"No,  'twas  up  to  me,  and  I  thought  and  thought 
till  after  supper-time.  And  then  I  had  a  plan — 
a  risky  chance,  but  a  chance,  just  the  same.  I 
went  up  to  the  store  and  bought  four  feet  of 
medium-size  rubber  hose  and  some  rubber  tape, 
same  as  they  sell  to  bicycle  fellers  in  the  summer. 
'Twas  almost  dark  when  I  got  back  in  sight  of 
my  shanty,  and  instead  of  going  to  it  I  jumped 
that  board  fence  that  me  and  Prince  had  negoti 
ated  for,  hustled  along  the  path  past  the  notice 
boards  ,and  went  down  the  bluff  on  t'other  side 
of  Davidson's  p'int.  And  there  in  the  deep 
hole  by  the  end  of  the  little  pier,  out  of  sight  of 
the  house  on  shore,  was  Allie's  launch.  By 
what  little  light  there  was  left  I  could  see  the 
brass  rails  shining. 

"But  I  didn't  stop  to  admire  'em.  I  give  one 
look  around.  Nobody  was  in  sight.  Then  I  ran 
down  the  pier  and  jumped  aboard.  Almost  the 
first  thing  I  put  my  hand  on  was  what  I  was  look 
ing  for — the  bilge-pump.  'Twas  a  small  affair, 
that  you  could  lug  around  in  one  hand,  but  mighty 
handy  for  keeping  a  boat  of  that  kind  dry. 


144       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"I  fitted  one  end  of  my  hose  to  the  lower  end 
of  that  pump  and  wrapped  rubber  tape  around  the 
j'int  till  she  sucked  when  I  tried  her  over  the  side. 
Then  I  turned  on  the  cocks  in  the  gasoline  pipes 
fore  and  aft,  and  noticed  that  the  carbureter  feed 
cup  was  chock  full.  Then  I  was  ready  for  busi 
ness. 

"I  went  for'ard,  climbing  over  the  little  low 
cabin  that  was  just  big  enough  for  a  man  to  crawl 
into,  till  I  reached  the  brass  cap  in  the  deck  over 
the  gasoline-tank.  Then  I  unscrewed  the  cap, 
run  my  hose  down  into  the  tank,  and  commenced 
to  pump  good  fourteen-cents-a-gallon  gasoline 
overboard  to  beat  the  cars.  'Twas  a  thirty- 
gallon  tank,  and  full  up.  I  begun  to  think  I'd 
never  get  her  empty,  but  I  did,  finally.  I  pumped 
her  dry.  Then  I  screwed  the  cap  on  again  and 
went  home,  taking  Allie's  bilge-pump  with  me, 
for  I  couldn't  stop  to  unship  the  hose.  The  tide 
was  coming  in  fast. 

"At  nine  o'clock  that  night  I  was  in  my  skiff", 
rowing  off  to  where  my  power-boat  laid  in  deep 
water  back  of  the  bar.  When  I  reached  her  I 
made  the  skiff"  fast  astern,  lit  a  lantern,  which  I 
put  in  a  locker  under  a  thwart,  and  set  still  in 
the  pitch-dark,  smoking  and  waiting. 

"'Twas  a  long,  wearisome  wait.  There  was  a 
uo'thwest  wind  coming  up,  and  the  waves  were 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   145 

running  pretty  choppy  on  the  bar.  All  I  could 
think  of  was  that  gasoline.  Was  there  enough 
in  the  pipes  and  the  feed  cup  on  that  launch  to 
carry  her  out  to  where  I  was  ?  Or  was  there  too 
much,  and  would  she  make  the  yacht,  after  all  ? 

"It  got  to  be  eleven  o'clock.  Tide  was  full  at 
twelve.  I  was  a  pretty  good  candidate  for  the 
crazy  house  by  this  t?me.  I'd  listened  till  my 
ear-drums  felt  slack,  like  they  needed  reefing. 
And  then  at  last  I  heard  her  coming — chuff-chuffl 
chufchuffl  chuff-chuffl 

"And  how  she  did  come!  She  walked  up 
abreast  of  me,  went  past  me,  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  off.  Thinks  I:  'It's  all  up.  He's  going  to 
make  it.' 

"And  then,  all  at  once,  the  'chuff-chuff-ing' 
stopped.  Started  up  and  stopped  again.  I  gave 
a  hurrah,  in  my  mind,  pulled  the  skiff  up  along 
side  and  jumped  into  her,  taking  the  lantern  with 
me,  under  my  coat.  Then  I  set  the  light  between 
my  feet,  picked  up  the  oars  and  started  rowing. 

"  I  rowed  quiet  as  I  could,  but  he  heard  me  'fore 
I  got  to  him.  I  heard  a  scrambling  noise  off 
ahead,  and  then  a  shaky  voice  hollers:  'Hello! 
who's  that  ?  ' 

It's  me,'  says  I,  rowing  harder'n  ever.    '  Who 
are  you  ?    What's  the  row  ?  ' 

"There  was  more  scrambling  and  a  slam,  like 


I46       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

a  door  shutting.  In  another  two  minutes  I  was 
alongside  the  launch  and  held  up  my  lantern. 
Allie  was  there,  fussing  with  his  engine.  And  he 
was  all  alone. 

"Alone  he  was,  I  say,  fur's  a  body  could  see, 
but  he  was  mighty  shaky  and  frightened.  Also, 
'side  of  him,  on  the  cushions,  was  a  girl's  jacket, 
and  I  thought  I'd  seen  that  jacket  afore. 

"'Hello!'  says  I.  'Is  that  you,  Mr.  Davidson  ? 
Thought  you'd  gone  to  Boston  ?  ' 

"Changed  my  mind,'  he  says.  'Got  any  gas 
oline  ?  ' 

"What  you  doing  off  here  this  time  of  night  ?  ' 
I  says. 

"Going  out  to  my '    He  stopped.     I  s'pose 

the  truth  choked  him.  'I  was  going  to  Province- 
town,'  he  went  on.  'Got  any  gasoline  ?  ' 

"What  in  the  nation  you  starting  to  Province- 
town  in  the  middle  of  the  night  for  ?  '  I  asks, 
innocent  as  could  be. 

"Oh,  thunder!  I  had  business  there,  that's 
all.  Got  any  gasoline?' 

"I  made  my  skiff's  painter  fast  to  a  cleat  on  the 
launch  and  climbed  aboard.  'Gasoline?'  says  I. 
'Gasoline?  Why,  yes;  I've  got  some  gasoline 
over  on  my  power-boat  out  yonder.  Has  yours 
give  out  ?  I  should  think  you'd  filled  your  tank 
'fore  you  left  home  on  such  a  trip  as  Province- 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   147 

town.  Maybe  the  pipe's  plugged  or  something. 
Have  you  looked  ?  '  And  I  caught  hold  of  the 
handle  of  the  cabin-door. 

"He  jumped  and  grabbed  me  by  the  arm. 
"Tain't  plugged,'  he  yells,  sharp.  'The  tank's 
empty,  I  tell  you.' 

"He  kept  pulling  me  away  from  the  cabin,  but 
I  hung  onto  the  handle. 

"'You  can't  be  too  sure,'  I  says.  'This  door's 
locked.  Give  me  the  key.' 

'"I — I  left  the  key  at  home,'  he  says.  'Don't 
waste  time.  Go  over  to  your  boat  and  fetch  me 
some  gasoline.  I'll  pay  you  well  for  it/ 

"Then  I  was  sartin  of  what  I  suspicioned.  The 
cabin  was  locked,  but  not  with  the  key.  That 
was  in  the  keyhole.  The  door  was  bolted  on  the 
inside. 

'"All  right,'  says  I.  Til  sell  you  the  gasoline, 
but  you'll  have  to  go  with  me  in  the  skiff  to  get  it. 
Get  your  anchor  over  or  this  craft'll  drift  to 
Eastham.  Hurry  up.' 

"He  didn't  like  the  idee  of  leaving  the  launch, 
but  I  wouldn't  hear  of  anything  else.  While  he 
was  heaving  the  anchor  I  commenced  to  talk  to 
him. 

"I  didn't  know  but  what  you'd  started  for 
foreign  parts  to  meet  that  Newport  girl  you're 
going  to  marry,'  I  says,  and  I  spoke  good  and  loud. 


I48       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"He  jumped  so  I  thought  he'd  fall  over 
board. 

"'What's  that?'  he  shouts. 
"Why,  that  girl  you're   engaged  to/   says  I. 

'Miss '  and  I  yelled  her  name,  and  how  she'd 

gone  abroad  with  his  folks,  and  all. 

"Shut  up!'  he  whispers,  waving  his  hands, 
frantic.  " Don't  stop  to  lie.  Hurry  up!' 

""Tain't  a  lie.  Oh,  I  know  about  it!'  I  hol 
lers,  as  if  he  was  deef.  I  meant  to  be  heard — by 
him  and  anybody  else  that  might  be  interested. 
I  give  a  whole  lot  more  particulars,  too.  He 
fairly  shoved  me  into  the  skiff,  after  a  spell. 

"  'Now,'  he  says,  so  mad  he  could  hardly  speak, 
'stop  your  lying  and  row,  will  you!' 

"I  was  willing  to  row  then.  I  cal'lated  I'd 
done  some  missionary  work  by  this  time.  Allie's 
guns  was  spiked,  if  I  knew  Barbara  Saunders.  I 
p'inted  the  skiff  the  way  she'd  ought  to  go  and  laid 
to  the  oars. 

"My  plan  had  been  to  get  him  aboard  the 
skiff  and  row  somewheres — ashore,  if  I  could. 
But  'twas  otherwise  laid  out  for  me.  The  wind 
was  blowing  pretty  fresh,  and  the  skiff  was  down 
by  the  stern,  so's  the  waves  kept  knocking  her 
nose  round.  'Twas  dark'n  a  pocket,  too.  I 
couldn't  tell  where  I  was  going. 

"Allie  got  more  fidgety  every  minute.     'Ain't 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   149 

we  'most  there  ?  '  he  asks.  And  then  he  gives  a 
screech.  'What's  that  ahead  ?' 

"  I  turned  to  see,  and  as  I  done  it  the  skiff's  bow 
slid  up  on  something.  I  give  an  awful  yank  at 
the  port  oar;  she  slewed  and  tilted;  a  wave 
caught  her  underneath,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew 
me  and  Allie  and  the  skiff  was  under  water, 
bound  for  the  bottom.  We'd  run  acrost  one  of 
the  guy-ropes  of  my  fish-weir. 

"This  wa'n't  in  the  program.  I  hit  sand  with 
a  bump  and  pawed  up  for  air.  When  I  got  my 
head  out  I  see  a  water-wheel  doing  business  close 
along-side  of  me.  It  was  Allie. 

"'Help!'  he  howls.     'Help!     I'm  drowning!' 

"I  got  him  by  the  collar,  took  one  stroke  and 
bumped  against  the  weir-nets.  You  know  what 
a  fish-weir's  like,  don't  you,  Mr.  Brown  ? — a  kind 
of  pound,  made  of  nets  hung  on  ropes  between 
poles. 

"'Help!'  yells  Allie,  clawing  the  nets.  'I 
can't  swim  in  rough  water!' 

"You  might  have  known  he  couldn't.  It 
looked  sort  of  dubious  for  a  jiffy.  Then  I  had 
an  idee.  I  dragged  him  to  the  nighest  weir-pole. 
'Climb!'  I  hollers  in  his  ear.  'Climb  that  pole.' 

"He  done  it,  somehow,  digging  his  toes  into 
the  net  and  going  up  like  a  cat  up  a  tree.  When 
he  got  to  the  top  he  hung  acrost  the  rope  and  shooi. 


1 5o       THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE  " 

"Hang  on  there!'  says  I.  'I'm  going  after 
the  boat.'  And  I  struck  out.  He  yelled  to  me 
not  to  leave  him,  but  the  weir  had  give  me  my 
bearings,  and  I  was  bound  for  my  power-boat. 
'Twas  a  tough  swim,  but  I  made  it,  and  climbed 
aboard,  not  feeling  any  too  happy.  Losing  a 
good  skiff  was  more'n  I'd  figgered  on. 

"Soon's  I  got  some  breath  I  hauled  anchor, 
started  up  my  engine  and  headed  back  for  the 
weir.  I  run  along-side  of  it,  keeping  a  good 
lookout  for  guy-ropes,  and  when  I  got  abreast 
of  that  particular  pole  I  looked  for  Allie.  He 
was  setting  on  the  rope,  a-straddle  of  the  pole, 
and  hanging  onto  the  top  of  it  like  it  owed  him 
money.  He  looked  a  good  deal  more  comfortable 
than  I  was  when  he  and  Prince  had  treed  me. 
And  the  remembrance  of  that  time  come  back 
to  me,  and  one  of  them  things  they  call  inspira 
tion  come  with  it.  He  was  four  feet  above  water, 
'twas  full  tide  then,  and  if  he  set  still  he  was  safe 
as  a  church. 

"So  instead  of  running  in  after  him,  I  slowed 
'way  down  and  backed  off. 

"'Come  here!'  he  yells.  'Come  here,  you 
fool,  and  take  me  aboard.' 

"'Oh,  I  don't  know/  says  I.  'You're  safe 
there,  and,  even  if  the  yacht  folks  don't  come 
hunting  for  you  by  and  by — which  I  cal'late  they 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  DOOR   151 

l —  the  tide'll  be  low  enough  in  five  hours  or 
so,  so's  you  can  walk  ashore.' 

"'What — what  do  you  mean  ?  '  he  says.  'Ain't 
you  goin'  to  take  me  off?  ' 

"'I  was,'  says  I,  'but  I've  changed  my  plans. 
And,  Mr.  Allie  Vander-what's-your-name  David 
son,  there's  other  things — low-down,  mean  things 
—planned  for  this  night  that  ain't  going  to  come 
off,  either.  Understand  that,  do  you  ?' 

"He  understood,  I  guess.  He  didn't  answer 
at  all.  Only  gurgled,  like  he'd  swallered  some 
thing  the  wrong  way. 

"Then  the  beautiful  tit  for  tat  of  the  whole 
business  come  to  me,  and  I  couldn't  help  rubbing 
it  in  a  little.  'As  a  sartin  acquaintance  of  mine 
once  said  to  me,'  I  says,  'you  look  a  good  deal 
handsomer  up  there  than  you  do  in  a  boat.' 

'You — you — etcetery  and  so  forth,  continued 
in  our  next!'  says  he,  or  words  to  that  effect. 

'That's  all  right,'  says  I,  putting  on  the  power. 
'You've  got  no  kick  coming.  I  allow  you  to — 
er — ornament  my  weir-pole,  and  'tain't  every 
dude  I'd  let  do  that.' 

"And  I  went  away  and,  as  the  Fifth  Reader 
used  to  say,  'let  him  alone  in  his  glory.' 

"I  went  back  to  the  launch,  pulled  up  her 
anchor  and  took  her  in  tow.  I  towed  her  in  to 
her  pier,  made  her  fast  and  then  left  her  for  a 


15*       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

while.  When  I  come  back  the  little  cabin-door 
was  open  and  the  girl's  jacket  was  gone. 

"Then  I  walked  up  the  path  to  the  Saunders 
house  and  it  done  me  good  to  see  a  light  in  Bar 
bara's  window.  I  set  on  the  steps  of  that  house 
until  morning  keeping  watch.  And  in  the  morning 
the  yacht  was  gone  and  the  weir-pole  was  vacant, 
and  Cap'n  Eben  Saunders  come  on  the  first  train. 

"So's  that's  all  there  is  of  it.  Allie  hasn't 
come  back  to  Bayport  sence,  and  the  last  I  heard 
he'd  married  that  Newport  girl;  she  has  my 
sympathy,  if  that's  any  comfort  to  her. 

"And  Barbara  ?  Well,  for  a  long  time  she'd 
turn  white  every  time  I  met  her.  But,  of  course, 
I  kept  my  mouth  shut,  and  she  went  to  sea  next 
v'yage  with  her  dad.  And  now  I  hear  she's  en 
gaged  to  a  nice  feller  up  to  Boston. 

"Oh,  yes — one  thing  more.  When  I  got  back 
to  my  shanty  that  morning  I  wiped  the  chalk- 
mark  off  the  door.  I  kind  of  figgered  that  I'd 
paid  that  debt,  with  back  interest  added." 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA  'ANKINS 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOB'ELIA  'ANKINS 

Obed's  yarn  being  done,  and  friend  Davidson 
done  too,  and  brown  at  that,  Peter  T.  passed 
around  another  relay  of  cigars  and  we  lit  up. 
Twas  Cap'n  En  that  spoke  first. 

"Love's  a  queer  disease,  anyway,"  says  he. 
"Ain't  it,  now?  'Twould  puzzle  you  and  me 
to  figger  out  what  that  Saunders  girl  see  to  like 
in  the  Davidson  critter.  It  must  be  a  dreadful 
responsible  thing  to  be  so  fascinating.  1  never 
felt  that  responsibleness  but  once — except  when 
I  got  married,  of  course — and  that  was  a  good 
many  years  ago,  when  I  was  going  to  sea  on 
long  v'yages,  and  was  cruising  around  the  East 
Indies,  in  the  latitude  of  our  new  troubles,  the 
Philippines. 

"I  put  in  about  three  months  on  one  of  them 
little  coral  islands  off  that  way  once.  Hottest 
corner  in  the  Lord's  creation,  I  cal'late,  and  the 
laziest  and  sleepiest  hole  ever  I  struck.  All  a 
feller  feels  like  doing  in  them  islands  is  just  to 
lay  on  his  back  under  a  palm  tree  all  day  and  eat 
custard-apples,  and  such  truck. 

155 


156       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"Way  I  come  to  be  there  was  like  this:  I  was 
fo'mast  hand  on  a  Boston  hooker  bound  to  Singa 
pore  after  rice.  The  skipper's  name  was  Perkins, 
Malachi  C.  Perkins,  and  he  was  the  meanest 
man  that  ever  wore  a  sou'-wester.  I've  had  the 
pleasure  of  telling  him  so  sence — 'twas  in  Suri 
nam  'long  in  '72.  Well,  anyhow,  Perkins  fed 
us  on  spiled  salt  junk  and  wormy  hard-tack  all 
the  way  out,  and  if  a  feller  dast  to  hint  that  the 
same  wa'n't  precisely  what  you'd  call  Parker 
House  fare,  why  the  skipper  would  knock  him  down 
with  a  marline-spike  and  the  first  mate  would 
kick  him  up  and  down  the  deck.  'Twan't  a 
pretty  performance  to  look  at,  but  it  beat  the 
world  for  taking  the  craving  for  fancy  cooking 
out  of  a  man. 

"Well,  when  I  got  to  Singapore  I  was  nothing 
but  skin  and  bone,  and  considerable  of  the  skin 
had  been  knocked  off  by  the  marline-spike  and 
the  mate's  boots.  I'd  shipped  for  the  v'yage 
out  and  back,  but  the  first  night  in  port  I  slipped 
over  the  side,  swum  ashore,  and  never  set  eyes 
on  old  Perkins  again  till  that  time  in  Surinam, 
years  afterward. 

"I  knocked  round  them  Singapore  docks  for 
much  as  a  month,  hoping  to  get  a  berth  on  some 
other  ship,  but  'twan't  no  go.  I  fell  in  with  a 
Britisher  named  Hammond,  'Ammond,  he  called 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          157 

it,  and  as  he  was  on  the  same  hunt  that  I  was, 
we  kept  each  other  comp'ny.  We  done  odd 
jobs  now  'n'  again,  and  slept  in  sailors'  lodging 
houses  when  we  had  the  price,  and  under  bridges 
or  on  hemp  bales  when  we  hadn't.  I  was  too 
proud  to  write  home  for  money,  and  Hammond 
didn't  have  no  home  to  write  to,  I  cal'late. 

"But  luck  '11  turn  if  you  give  it  time  enough. 
One  night  Hammond  come  hurrying  round  to 
my  sleeping-room — that  is  to  say,  my  hemp  bale 
— and  gives  me  a  shake,  and  says  he: 

'Turn   out,  you   mud   'ead,   I've   got  you   a 
berth/ 

"Aw,  go  west!'  says  I,  and  turned  over  to 
go  to  sleep  again.  But  he  pulled  me  off  the 
bale  by  the  leg,  and  that  woke  me  up  so  I  sensed 
what  he  was  saying.  Seems  he'd  found  a  feller 
that  wanted  to  ship  a  couple  of  fo'mast  hands 
on  a  little  trading  schooner  for  a  trip  over  to  the 
Java  Sea. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  we  shipped 
with  this  feller,  whose  name  was  Lazarus.  I 
cal'late  if  the  Lazarus  in  Scriptur'  had  been  up 
to  as  many  tricks  and  had  come  as  nigh  being  a 
thief  as  our  Lazarus  was,  he  wouldn't  have  been 
so  poor.  Ourn  was  a  shrewd  rascal  and  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  pearl  poacher.  He  didn't 
tell  us  that  till  after  we  sot  sail,  but  we  was  so 


158       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

desperate  I  don't  know  as  'twould  have  made 
much  difference  if  he  had. 

"We  cruised  round  for  a  spell,  sort  of  pros 
pecting,  and  then  we  landed  at  a  little  one-horse 
coral  island,  where  there  wa'n't  no  inhabitants, 
but  where  we  was  pretty  dead  sartin  there  was 
pearl  oyster  banks  in  the  lagoon.  There  was 
five  of  us  on  the  schooner,  a  Dutchman  named 
Rhinelander,  a  Coolie  cook  and  Lazarus  and 
Hammond  and  me.  We  put  up  a  slab  shanty 
on  shore  and  went  to  work  pearl  fishing,  keep 
ing  one  eye  out  for  Dutch  gunboats,  and  always 
having  a  sago  palm  ready  to  split  open  so's,  if 
we  got  caught,  we  could  say  we  was  after  sago. 

"Well,  we  done  fairly  good  at  the  pearl  fishing; 
got  together  quite  a  likely  mess  of  pearls,  and, 
as  'twas  part  of  the  agreement  that  the  crew  had 
a  certain  share  in  the  stake,  why,  Hammond 
and  me  was  figgering  that  we  was  going  to  make 
enough  to  more'n  pay  us  for  our  long  spell  of 
starving  at  Singapore.  Lazaras  was  feeling  purty 
middling  chipper,  the  cook  was  feeding  us  high, 
and  everything  looked  lovely. 

"Rhinelander  and  the  Coolie  and  the  skipper 
used  to  sleep  aboard  the  boat,  but  Hammond 
and  me  liked  to  sleep  ashore  in  the  shanty.  For 
one  thing,  the  bunks  on  the  schooner  wa'n't 
none  too  clean,  and  the  Coolie  snored  so  that 


THE  LQVE  OF  LOBELIA          159 

he'd  shake  the  whole  cabin,  and  start  me  dreaming 
about  cyclones,  and  cannons  firing,  and  lions 
roaring,  and  all  kind  of  foolishness.  I  always 
did  hate  a  snorer. 

"One  morning  me  and  Hammond  come  out 
of  the  shanty,  and,  lo  and  behold  you!  there 
wa'n't  no  schooner  to  be  seen.  That  everlast 
ing  Lazarus  had  put  up  a  job  on  us,  and  had 
sneaked  off  in  the  night  with  the  cook  and  the 
Dutchman,  and  took  our  share  of  the  pearls  with 
him.  I  s'pose  he'd  cal'lated  to  do  it  from  the 
very  first.  Anyway,  there  we  was,  marooned 
on  that  little  two-for-a-cent  island. 

"The  first  day  we  didn't  do  much  but  cuss 
Lazarus  up  hill  and  down  dale.  Hammond  was 
the  best  at  that  kind  of  business  ever  I  see.  He 
invented  more'n  four  hundred  new  kind  of  names 
for  the  gang  on  the  schooner,  and  every  one  of 
'em  was  brimstone-blue.  We  had  fish  lines  in 
the  shanty,  and  there  was  plenty  of  water  on  the 
island,  so  we  knew  we  wouldn't  starve  to  death 
nor  die  of  thirst,  anyhow. 

"I've  mentioned  that  'twas  hot  in  them  parts? 
Well,  that  island  was  the  hottest  of  'em  all.  Whew! 
Don't  talk!  And,  more'n  that,  the  weather  was 
the  kind  that  makes  you  feel  it's  a  barrel  of  work 
to  live.  First  day  we  fished  and  slept.  Next 
day  we  fished  less  and  slept  more.  Third  day  'twas 


i6o       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

too  everlasting  hot  even  to  sleep,  so  we  set  round 
in  the  shade  and  fought  flies  and  jawed  each 
other.  Main  trouble  was  who  was  goin'  to  git 
the  meals.  Land,  how  we  did  miss  that  Coolie 
cook! 

"W'y  don't  yer  get  to  work  and  cook  some 
thing  fit  to  heat?  '  says  Hammond.  "Ere  I  broke 
my  bloomin'  back  'auling  in  the  fish,  and  you 
doing  nothing  but  'anging  around  and  letting 
'em  dry  hup  in  the  'eat.  Get  to  work  and  cook. 
Blimed  if  I  ain't  sick  of  these  'ere  custard  apples!' 
"Go  and  cook  yourself,'  says  I.  'I  didn't 
sign  articles  to  be  cook  for  no  Johnny  Bull!' 

"Well,  we  jawed  back  and  forth  for  an  hour, 
maybe  more.  Two  or  three  times  we  got  up 
to  have  it  out,  but  'twas  too  hot  to  fight,  so  we 
set  down  again.  Fin'lly  we  eat  some  supper, 
custard  apples  and  water,  and  turned  in. 

"But  'twas  too  hot  to  sleep  much,  and  I  got 
up  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  went 
out  and  set  down  on  the  beach  in  the  moonlight. 
Pretty  soon  out  comes  Hammond  and  sets  down 
alongside  and  begins  to  give  the  weather  a  gen 
eral  overhauling,  callin'  it  everything  he  could 
lay  tongue  to.  Pretty  soon  he  breaks  off*  in  the 
the  middle  of  a  nine-j'inted  swear  word  and  sings 
out: 

"'Am  I  goin'  crazy,  or  is  that  a  schooner?  ' 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          161 

"I  looked  out  into  the  moonlight,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  was  a  schooner,  about  a  mile  off  the 
island,  and  coming  dead  on.  First-off  we  thought 
'twas  Lazarus  coming  back,  but  pretty  soon  we 
see  'twas  a  considerable  smaller  boat  than  his. 

"We  forgot  all  about  how  hot  it  was  and  hustled 
out  on  the  reef  right  at  the  mouth  of  the  lagoon. 
I  had  a  coat  on  a  stick,  and  I  waved  it  for  a  sig 
nal,  and  Hammond  set  to  work  building  a  bon 
fire.  He  got  a  noble  one  blazing  and  then  him 
and  me  stood  and  watched  the  schooner. 

"She  was  acting  dreadful  queer.  First  she'd 
go  ahead  on  one  tack  and  then  give  a  heave  over 
and  come  about  with  a  bang,  sails  flapping  and 
everything  of  a  shake;  then  she'd  give  another 
slat  and  go  off  another  way;  but  mainly  she 
kept  right  on  toward  the  island. 

"Wat's  the  matter  aboard  there?  '  says  Ham 
mond.  'Is  hall  'ands  drunk?  ' 

"She's  abandoned,'  says  I.  'That's  what's 
the  matter.  There  ain't  nobody  aboard  of  her.' 

"Then  we  both  says,  'Salvage'.'  and  shook 
hands. 

"The  schooner  came  nearer  and  nearer.  It 
begun  to  look  as  if  she'd  smash  against  the  rocks 
in  front  of  us,  but  she  didn't.  When  she  got 
opposite  the  mouth  of  the  lagoon  she  heeled  over 
on  a  new  tack  and  sailed  in  between  the  rocks 


i6i        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

as  pretty  as  anything  ever  you  see.  Then  she 
run  aground  on  the  beach  just  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  shanty. 

"Twas  early  morning  when  we  climbed  aboard 
of  her.  I  thought  Lazarus'  schooner  was  dirty, 
but  this  one  was  nothing  but  dirt.  Dirty  sails, 
all  patches,  dirty  deck,  dirty  everything. 

''Won't  get  much  salvage  on  this  bally  tub,' 
says  Hammond;  'she's  one  of  them  nigger  fish 
boats,  that's  w'at  she  is.' 

"I  was  kind  of  skittish  about  going  below, 
'fraid  there  might  be  some  dead  folks,  but  Ham 
mond  went.  In  a  minute  or  so  up  he  comes, 
looking  scary. 

'There's  something  mighty  queer  down  there,* 
says  he:  'kind  of  w'eezing  like  a  puffing  pig/ 

" Wheezing  your  grandmother!'  says  I,  but 
I  went  and  listened  at  the  hatch.  'Twas  a  funny 
noise  I  heard,  but  I  knew  what  it  was  in  a  minute; 
I'd  heard  too  much  of  it  lately  to  forget  it,  right 
away. 

"It's   snoring/   says   I;    'somebody  snoring.' 

"Eavens!  '  says  Hammond,  'you  don't  s'pose 
it's  that  'ere  Coolie  come  back  ?  ' 

"No,  no!'  says  I.  'Where's  your  common 
sense?  The  cook  snored  bass;  this  critter's 
snoring  suppraner,  and  mighty  poor  suppraner 
at  that.' 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          163 

'"Well/  says  he,  ''ere  goes  to  wake  'im  hup!' 
And  he  commenced  to  holler,  'Ahoy!'  and  'Belay, 
there!'  down  the  hatch. 

"First  thing  we  heard  was  a  kind  of  thump 
like  somebody  jumping  out  er  bed.  Then  foot 
steps,  running  like;  then  up  the  hatchway  comes 
a  sight  I  shan't  forget  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred. 

"Twas  a  woman,  middling  old,  with  a  yeller 
face  all  wrinkles,  and  a  chin  and  nose  like  Punch. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  gaudy  old  calico  gown,  and 
had  earrings  in  her  ears.  She  give  one  look 
round  at  the  schooner  and  the  island.  Then  she 
see  us  and  let  out  a  whoop  like  a  steam  whistle. 

"Mulligatawny  Sacremento  merlasess!'  she 
yells.  'Course  that  wa'n't  what  she  said,  but 
that's  what  it  sounded  like.  Then,  'fore  Ham 
mond  could  stop  her,  she  run  for  him  and  give 
him  a  rousing  big  hug.  He  was  the  most  sur 
prised  man  ever  you  see,  stood  there  like  a  wooden 
image.  I  commenced  to  lafF,  but  the  next  minute 
the  woman  come  for  me  and  hugged  me,  too. 

"Fectionate  old  gal,'  says  Hammond,  grinning. 

"The  critter  in  the  calirco  gown  was  going 
through  the  craziest  pantomime  ever  was;  p'int- 
in'  off  to  sea  and  then  down  to  deck  and  then  up 
to  the  sails.  I  didn't  catch  on  for  a  minute,  but 
Hammond  did.  Says  he: 

"Showing   us    w'ere    this    'ere    palatial   yacht 


1 64       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

come  from.  'Ad  a  rough  passage,  it  looks  like!' 
"Then  the  old  gal  commenced  to  get  excited. 
She  p'inted  over  the  side  and  made  motions  like 
rowing.  Then  she  p'inted  down  the  hatch  and 
shut  her  eyes  and  purtended  to  snore.  After  that 
she  rowed  again,  all  the  time  getting  madder  and 
madder,  with  her  little  black  eyes  a-snapping 
like  fire  coals  and  stomping  her  feet  and  shaking 
her  fists.  Fin'lly  she  finished  up  with  a  regular 
howl,  you  might  say,  of  rage. 

'The  crew  took  to  the  boat  and  left  'er  asleep 
below,'  says  Hammond.  "Oly  scissors:  they're 
in  for  a  lively  time  if  old  Nutcrackers  'ere  ever 
catches  'em,  'ey  ?  ' 

"Well,  we  went  over  the  schooner  and  exam 
ined  everything,  but  there  wa'n't  nothing  of  any 
value  nowheres.  'Twas  a  reg'lar  nigger  fishing 
boat,  with  dirt  and  cockroaches  by  the  pailful. 
At  last  we  went  ashore  agin  and  up  to  the  shanty, 
taking  the  old  woman  with  us.  After  eating 
some  more  of  them  tiresome  custard  apples  for 
breakfast,  Hammond  and  me  went  down  to  look 
over  the  schooner  agin.  We  found  she'd  started 
a  plank  running  aground  on  the  beach,  and  that 
'twould  take  us  a  week  to  get  her  afloat  and 
watertight. 

"While  we  was  doing  this  the  woman  come 
down  and  went  aboard.  Pretty  soon  we  see 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          165 

her  going  back  to  the  shanty  with  her  arms  full 
of  bundles  and  truck.  We  didn't  think  any 
thing  of  it  then,  but  when  we  got  home  at  noon, 
there  was  the  best  dinner  ever  you  see  all  ready 
for  us.  Fried  fish,  and  some  kind  of  beans 
Booked  up  with  peppers,  and  tea — real  store 
tea — and  a  lot  more  things.  Land,  how  we  did 
eat!  We  kept  smacking  our  lips  and  rubbing 
our  vests  to  show  we  was  enjoying  everything, 
and  the  old  gal  kept  bobbing  her  head  and  grin 
ning  like  one  of  them  dummies  you  wind  up 
with  a  key. 

"Well/  says  Hammond,  'we've  got  a  cook  at 

last.     Ain't   we,   old — old Blimed    if  we've 

got  a  name  for  'er  yet!  Here!'  says  he,  pointing 
to  me.  'Looky  here,  missis!  'Edge!  'Edge! 
that's  'im!  'Ammond!  'Ammond!  that's  me. 
me.  Now,  'oo  are  you?  ' 

"She  rattled  off  a  name  that  had  more  double 
j'ints  in  it  than  an  eel. 

"Lordy!'  says  I;  'we  never  can  larn  that 
rigamarole.  I  tell  you!  She  looks  for  all  the 
world  like  old  A'nt  Lobelia  Fosdick  at  home 
down  on  Cape  Cod.  Let's  call  her  that.' 

"She  looks  to  me  like  the  mother  of  a  oyster- 
man  I  used  to  know  in  Liverpool.  'Is  name  was 
'Ankins.  Let's  split  the  difference  and  call  'er 
X/obelia  'Ankins.' 


166       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"So  we  done  it. 

"Well,  Hammond  and  me  pounded  and  patched 
away  at  the  schooner  for  the  next  three  or  four 
days,  taking  plenty  of  time  off  to  sleep  in,  'count 
of  the  heat,  but  getting  along  fairly  well. 

"Lobelia  'Ankins  cooked  and  washed  dishes 
for  us.  She  done  some  noble  cooking,  'specially 
as  we  wa'n't  partic'lar,  but  we  could  see  she  had 
a  temper  to  beat  the  Old  Scratch.  If  anything 
got  burned,  or  if  the  kittle  upset,  she'd  howl 
and  stomp  and  scatter  things  worse  than  a  cyclone, 

"I  reckon  'twas  about  the  third  day  that  1 
noticed  she  was  getting  sweet  on  Hammond.  She 
was  giving  him  the  best  of  all  the  vittles,  and 
used  to  set  at  the  table  and  look  at  him,  softer'n 
and  sweeter'n  a  bucket  of  molasses.  Used  to 
walk  'longside  of  him,  too,  and  look  up  in  his 
face  and  smile.  I  could  see  that  he  noticed  it 
and  that  it  was  worrying  him  a  heap.  One  day 
he  says  to  me: 

"Edge,'  says  he,  'I  b'lieve  that  'ere  chromo 
of  a  Lobelia  'Ankins  is  getting  soft  on  me.' 

"Course  she  is,'  says  I;     'I  see   that  a  long 
spell  ago.' 

"But  what'll  I  do?  '  says  he.  'A  woman  like 
'er  is  a  desp'rate  character.  If  we  never  git 
hashore  she  might  be  for  lugging  me  to  the  church 
anci  marrying  me  by  main  force.' 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          167 

"Then  you'll  have  to  marry  her,  for  all  I  see/ 
*ays  I.     'You  shouldn't  be  so  fascinating/ 

"That  made  him  mad  and  he  went  off  jawing 
to  himself. 

"The  next  day  we  got  the  schooner  patched 
up  and  off  the  shoal  and  Alongside  Lazarus'  old 
landing  wharf  by  the  shanty.  Thers  was  a  little 
more  tinkering  to  be  done  'fore  she  was  ready 
for  sea,  and  we  cal'lated  to  do  it  that  afternoon. 

"After  dinner  Hammond  went  down  to  the 
spring  after  some  water  and  Lobelia  'Ankins 
went  along  with  him.  I  laid  down  in  the  shade 
for  a  snooze,  but  I  hadn't  much  more  than  settled 
myself  comfortably  when  I  heard  a  yell  and 
somebody  running.  I  jumped  up  just  in  time 
to  see  Hammond  come  busting  through  the 
bushes,  lickety  smash,  with  Lobelia  after  him, 
yelling  like  an  Injun.  Hammond  wa'n't  yell 
ing;  he  was  saving  his  breath  for  running. 

"They  wa'n't  in  sight  more'n  a  minute,  but 
went  smashing  and  crashing  through  the  woods 
into  the  distance.  'Twas  too  hot  to  run  after 
'em,  so  I  waited  a  spell  and  then  loafed  off  in  a 
roundabout  direction  toward  where  I  see  'em  go. 
After  I'd  walked  pretty  nigh  a  mile  I  heard  Ham 
mond  whistle.  I  looked,  but  didn't  see  him  no- 
wheres.  Then  he  whistled  again,  and  I  see  his 
head  sticking  out  of  the  top  of  a  palm  tree. 


"Is  she  gone?  '  says  he. 
'Yes,  long  ago/  says  I.     'Come  down.' 

"It  took  some  coaxing  to  git  him  down,  but 
he  come  after  a  spell,  and  he  was  the  scaredest 
man  ever  I  see.  I  asked  him  what  the  matter  was. 
"Edge/  says  he,  'I'm  a  lost  man.  That  'ere 
'orrible  'Ankins  houtrage  is  either  going  to  marry 
me  or  kill  me.'  'Edge/  he  says,  awful  solemn, 
*she  tried  to  kiss  me!  S'elp  me,  she  did!' 

"Well,  I  set  back  and  laughed.  'Is  that  why 
you  run  away  ?  '  I  says. 

' '  No/  says  he.  '  When  I  wouldn't  let  'er  she  hups 
with  a  rock  as  big  as  my  'ead  and  goes  for  me. 
There  was  murder  in  'er  eyes,  'Edge;  I  see  it.' 

"Then  I  laughed  more  than  ever  and  told  him 
to  come  back  to  the  shanty,  but  he  wouldn't. 
He  swore  he'd  never  come  back  again  while 
Lobelia  'Ankins  was  there. 

"  That's  it/  says  he,  'larf  at  a  feller  critter's 
sufferings.  I  honly  wish  she'd  try  to  kiss  you 
once,  that's  all!' 

"Well,  I  couldn't  make  him  budge,  so  I  decided 
to  go  back  and  get  the  lay  of  the  land.  Lobelia 
was  busy  inside  the  shanty  when  I  got  there  and 
looking  black  as  a  thundercloud,  so  I  judged 
'twa'n't  best  to  say  nothing  to  her,  and  I  went 
down  and  finished  the  job  on  the  schooner.  At 
night,  when  I  come  in  to  supper,  she  met  me  at 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELI4          169 

the  door.     She  had  a  big  stick  in  her  hand  and 
looked  savage.     I  was  a  little  nervous. 

"'Now,  Lobelia  'Ankins/  says  I,  'put  down 
that  and  be  sociable,  there's  a  good  girl/ 

'"Course  I  knew  she  couldn't  understand  me, 
but  I  was  whistling  to  keep  my  courage  up,  as 
the  saying  is. 

""AmmondP  says  she,  p'inting  toward  the 
woods. 

'Yes/  says  I,  'Hammond's  taking  a  walk 
for  his  health/ 

""Ammond!*  says  she,  louder,  and  shaking 
the  stick. 

"'Now,  Lobelia/  says  I,  smiling  smooth  as 
butter,  'do  put  down  that  club!' 

"Ammondr  she  fairly  hollers.  Then  she 
went  through  the  most  blood-curdling  panto 
mime  ever  was,  I  reckon.  First  she  comes  up 
to  me  and  taps  me  on  the  chest  and  says,  *  'Edge/ 
Then  she  goes  creeping  round  the  room  on  tip 
toe,  p'inting  out  of  the  winder  all  the  time  as 
much  as  to  say  she  was  pertending  to  walk  through 
the  woods.  Then  she  p'ints  to  one  of  the  stumps 
we  used  for  chairs  and  screeches  "Ammond!  ' 
and  fetches  the  stump  an  awful  bang  with  the 
club.  Then  she  comes  over  to  me  and  kinder 
snuggles  up  and  smiles,  and  says,  *  'Edge/  and 
tried  to  put  the  club  in  my  hand. 


170       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"My  topnot  riz  up  on  my  head.  'Good  Lord!' 
thinks  I,  'she's  making  love  to  me  so's  to  get  me 
to  take  that  club  and  go  and  thump  Hammond 
with  it!' 


"  I  PUT  FOR  THE  WOODS." 

"I  was  scared  stiff,  but  Lobelia  was  between 
me  and  the  door,  so  I  kept  smiling  and  backing 
away. 

"'Now,  Lobelia,'  says  I,  'don't  be ' 

"Ammond!'  says  she. 

"'Now,  Miss  'Ankins,  d-o-n't  be  hasty,  I * 


THE  WVE  OF  LOBELIA          171 

""Ammondr 

"Well,  I  backed  faster  and  faster,  and  she 
follered  me  right  up  till  at  last  I  begun  to  run. 
Round  and  round  the  place  we  went,  me  scart 
for  my  life  and  she  fairly  frothing  with  rage. 
Finally  I  bust  through  the  door  and  put  for  the 
woods  at  a  rate  that  beat  Hammond's  going  all 
holler.  I  never  stopped  till  I  got  close  to  the 
palm  tree.  Then  I  whistled  and  Hammond 
answered. 

"When  I  told  him  about  the  rumpus,  he  set 
and  laughed  like  an  idiot. 

" '  'Ow  d'you  like  Miss  'Ankin's  love-making  ?  ' 
he  says. 

"'You'll  like  it  less'n  I  do/  I  says,  'if  she  gets 
up  here  with  that  club!' 

"That  kind  of  sobered  him  down  again,  and 
we  got  to  planning.  After  a  spell,  we  decided 
that  our  only  chance  was  to  sneak  down  to  the 
schooner  in  the  dark  and  put  to  sea,  leaving 
Lobelia  alone  in  her  glory. 

"Well,  we  waited  till  twelve  o'clock  or  so  and 
then  we  crept  down  to  the  beach,  tiptoeing  past 
the  shanty  for  fear  of  waking  Lobelia.  We  got 
on  the  schooner  all  right,  hauled  up  anchor, 
h'isted  sail  and  stood  out  of  the  lagoon  with  a 
fair  wind.  When  we  was  fairly  to  sea  we  shook 
hands. 


172       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"Lawd!'  says  Hammond,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  'I  never  was  so  'appy  in  my  life.  This 
'ere  lady-killing  business  ain't  in  my  line.  ' 

"He  felt  so  good  that  he  set  by  the  wheel  and 
sung,  'Good-by,  sweet'art,  good-by,'  for  an  hour 
or  more. 

"In  the  morning  we  was  in  sight  of  another 

small  island,  and,  out  on  a  p'int,  was  a  passel  of 

folks  jumping  up  and  down  and  waving  a  signal. 

"Well,  if  there  ain't  more  castaways!'  says  I. 

"Do.n't  go  near  'em!'  says  Hammond.     'Might 

come  there  was  more  Lobelias  among  'em.' 

"But  pretty  quick  we  see  the  crowd  all  pile 
into  a  boat  and  come  rowing  off  to  us.  They 
was  all  men,  and  their  signal  was  a  red  flannel 
shirt  on  a  pole. 

"We  put  about  for  'em  and  picked  'em  up, 
letting  their  boat  tow  behind  the  schooner.  There 
was  five  of  'em,  a  ragged  and  dirty  lot  of  Malays 
and  half-'breeds.  When  they  first  climbed  aboard, 
I  see  'em  looking  the  schooner  over  mighty  sharp, 
and  in  a  minute  they  was  all  jabbering  together 
in  native  lingo. 

"'What's  the  matter  with  'em?'  says  Ham 
mond. 

"A  chap  with  scraggy  black  whiskers  and  a 
sort  of  worried  look  on  his  face,  stepped  for'ard 
and  made  a  bow.  He  looked  like  a  cross  be- 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA  173 

tween  a  Spaniard  and  a  Malay,  and  I  guess  that's 
what  he  was. 

"'Senors,'  says  he,  palavering  and  scraping, 
'boat!  my  boat!' 

"'Wat's  'e  giving  us?*  says  Hammond. 

"'Boat!  This  boat!  My  boat,  senors/  says 
the  feller.  All  to  once  I  understood  him. 

"'Hammond/  I  says,  'I  swan  to  man  if  I  don't 
believe  we've  picked  up  the  real  crew  of  this 
craft!' 

'"Si,  senor;  boat,  my  boat!  Crew!  Crew!' 
says  Whiskers,  waving  his  hands  toward  the 
rest  of  his  gang. 

'"Hall  right,  skipper,'  says  Hammond;  'glad 
to  see  yer  back  haboard.  Make  yerselves  well 
at  'ome.  'Ow  d'  yer  lose  er  in  the  first  place?' 

"The  feller  didn't  seem  to  understand  much 
of  this,  but  he  looked  more  worried  than  ever. 
The  crew  looked  frightened,  and  jabbered. 

'"Ooman,  senors,'  says  Whiskers,  in  half  a 
whisper.  'Ooman,  she  here?' 

"'Hammond,'  says  I,  'what's  a  ooman?' 
The  feller  seemed  to  be  thinkin'  a  minute;  then 
he  began  to  make  signs.  He  pulled  his  nose 
down  till  it  most  touched  his  chin.  Then  he 
put  his  hands  to  his  ears  and  made  loops  of  his 
fingers  to  show  earrings.  Then  he  took  off  his 
coat  and  wrapped  it  round  his  knees  like  make- 


174       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

b'lieve  skirts.  Hammond  and  me  looked  at 
each  other. 

""Edge/  says  Hammond,  "c  wants  to  know 
w'at's  become  of  Lobelia  'Ankins.' 

"'No,  senor,'  says  I  to  the  feller;  'ooman  no 
here.  Ooman  there!'  And  I  p'inted  in  the  direc 
tion  of  our  island. 

"Well,  sir,  you  oughter  have  seen  that  Malay 
gang's  faces  light  up!  They  all  bust  out  a  grin 
ning  and  laffing,  and  Whiskers  fairly  hugged 
me  and  then  Hammond.  Then  he  made  one 
of  the  Malays  take  the  wheel  instead  of  me,  and 
sent  another  one  into  the  fo'castle  after  some 
thing. 

"  But  I  was  curious,  and  I  says,  p'inting  toward 
Lobelia's  island: 

' '  Ooman  your  wife  ?  ' 

"No,  no,  no,'  says  he,  shaking  his  head  like 
it  would  come  off,  'ooman  no  wife.  Wife  there,' 
and  he  p'inted  about  directly  opposite  from  my 
way.  'Ooman,'  he  goes  on,  'she  no  wife,  she— 

"Just  here  the  Malay  come  up  from  the  fo'cas- 
tle,  grinning  like  a  chessy  cat  and  hugging  a  fat 
jug  of  this  here  palm  wine  that  natives  make. 
I  don't  know  where  he  got  it  from — I  thought 
Hammond  and  me  had  rummaged  that  fo'castle 
pretty  well — but,  anyhow,  there  it  was. 

"Whiskers  passed  the  jug  to  me  and  I  handed 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA          175 

k  over  to  Hammond.  He  stood  up  to  make  a 
speech. 

"'Feller  citizens/  says  he,  'I  rise  to  drink  a 
toast.  'Ere's  to  the  beautchous  Lobelia  'Ankins, 
and  may  she  long  hornament  the  lovely  island 
where  she  now ' 

"The  Malay  at  the  wheel  behind  us  gave  an 
awful  screech.  We  all  turned  sudden,  and  there, 
standing  on  the  companion  ladder,  with  her 
head  and  shoulders  out  of  the  hatch,  was  Lo 
belia  'Ankins,  as  large  as  life  and  twice  as  natural. 

"Hammond  dropped  the  jug  and  it  smashed 
into  flinders.  We  all  stood  stock-still  for  a  min 
ute,  like  folks  in  a  tableau.  The  half-breed 
skipper  stood  next  to  me,  and  I  snum  if  you 
couldn't  see  him  shrivel  up  like  one  of  them 
things  they  call  a  sensitive  plant. 

"The  tableau  lasted  while  a  feller  might  count 
five;  then  things  happened.  Hammond  and  me 
dodged  around  the  deckhouse;  the  Malays  broke 
and  run,  one  up  the  main  rigging,  two  down  the 
fo'castle  hatch  and  one  out  on  the  jib-boom. 
But  the  poor  skipper  wa'n't  satisfied  with  any 
of  them  places;  he  started  for  the  lee  rail,  and 
Lobelia  'Ankins  started  after  him. 

"She  caught  him  as  he  was  going  to  jump 
overboard  and  yanked  him  back  like  he  was  a 
bag  of  meal.  She  shook  him,  she  boxed  his  ears, 


176        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE 

she  pulled  his  hair,  and  all  the  time  he  was  beg* 
ging  and  pleading  and  she  was  screeching  and 
jabbering  at  the  top  of  her  lungs.  Hammond 
pulled  me  by  the  sleeve. 

"It'll  be  our  turn  next/  says  he;    'get  into 
the  boat!     Quick!' 

"The  little  boat  that  the  crew  had  come  in 
was  towing  behind  the  schooner.  We  slid  over 
the  stern  and  dropped  into  it.  Hammond  cut 
the  towline  and  we  laid  to  the  oars.  Long  as  we 
was  in  the  hearing  of  the  schooner  the  powwow 
and  rumpus  kept  up,  but  just  as  we  was  landing 
on  the  little  island  that  the  Malays  had  left,  she 
come  about  on  the  port  tack  and  stood  off  to  sea. 

"Lobelia's  running  things  again,'  says  Ham 
mond. 

"Three  days  after  this  we  was  took  off  by  a 
Dutch  gunboat.  Most  of  the  time  on  the  island 
we  spent  debating  how  Lobelia  come  to  be  on 
the  schooner.  Finally  we  decided  that  she  must 
have  gone  aboard  to  sleep  that  night,  suspect 
ing  that  we'd  try  to  run  away  in  the  schooner 
just  as  we  had  tried  to.  We  talked  about  Whis 
kers  and  his  crew  and  guessed  about  how  they 
came  to  abandon  their  boat  in  the  first  place. 
One  thing  we  was  sartin  sure  of,  and  that  was 
that  they'd  left  Lobelia  aboard  on  purpose.  We 
knew  mighty  well  that's  what  we'd  a-done. 


THE  LOVE  OF  LOBELIA  177 

"What  puzzled  us  most  was  what  relation 
Lobelia  was  to  the  skipper.  She  wa'n't  his  wife, 
'cause  he'd  said  so,  and  she  didn't  look  enough 
like  him  to  be  his  mother  or  sister.  But  as  we 
was  being  took  off  in  the  Dutchman's  yawl,  Ham 
mond  thumps  the  thwart  with  his  fist  and  says 
he: 

"I've  got  it!'  he  says;  'she's  'is  mother-in- 
law!' 

"Course   she  is!*   says  I.     'We   might  have 
known  it!'" 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROSY 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROSY 

Cap'n  Jonadab  said  that  the  South  Seas  and 
them  islands  was  full  of  queer  happenings,  any 
how.  Said  that  Eri's  yarn  reminded  him  of  one 
that  Jule  Sparrow  used  to  tell.  There  was  a 
Cockney  in  that  yarn,  too,  and  a  South  Sea 
woman  and  a  schooner.  But  in  other  respects 
the  stories  was  different. 

"You  ail  know  Wash  Sparrow,  here  in  Well- 
mouth,"  says  the  Cap'n.  "He's  the  laziest  man 
in  town.  It  runs  in  his  family.  His  dad 
was  just  the  same.  The  old  man  died  of  creeping 
paralysis,  which  was  just  the  disease  he'd  pick 
out  to  die  of,  and  even  then  he  took  six  years  to 
do  it  in.  Washy's  brother  Jule,  Julius  Caesar 
Sparrow,  he  was  as  no-account  and  lazy  as  the 
rest.  When  he  was  around  this  neighborhood 
he  put  in  his  time  swapping  sea  lies  for  heat  from 
the  post-office  stove,  and  the  only  thing  that 
would  get  him  livened  up  at  all  was  the  mention 
of  a  feller  named  'Rosy'  that  he  knew  while  he 
was  seafaring,  way  off  on  t'other  side  of  the  world. 

181 


1 82        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Jule  used  to  say  that  'twas  this  Rosy  that  made  him 
lose  faith  in  human  nature. 

"The  first  time  ever  Julius  and  Rosy  met  was 
one  afternoon  just  as  the  Emily — that  was  the 
little  fore-and-aft  South  Sea  trading  schooner 
Jule  was  in — was  casting  off  from  the  ramshackle 
landing  at  Hello  Island.  Where's  Hello  Island  ? 
Well,  I'll  tell  you.  When  you  get  home  you  take 
your  boy's  geography  book  and  find  the  map  of 
the  world.  About  amidships  of  the  sou'western 
quarter  of  it  you'll  see  a  place  where  the  Pacific 
Ocean  is  all  broke  out  with  the  measles.  Yes; 
well,  one  of  them  measle  spots  is  Hello  Island. 

'  'Course  that  ain't  the  real  name  of  it.  The 
real  one  is  spelt  with  four  o's,  three  a's,  five  i's, 
and  a  peck  measure  of  h's  and  x's  hove  in  to  fill 
up.  It  looks  like  a  plate  of  hash  and  that's  the 
way  it's  pronounced.  Maybe  you  might  sing  it 
if  'twas  set  to  music,  but  no  white  man  ever  said 
the  whole  of  it.  Them  that  tried  always  broke 
down  on  the  second  fathom  or  so  and  said  'Oh, 
the  hereafter!'  or  words  to  that  effect.  'Course 
the  missionaries  see  that  wouldn't  do,  so  they 
twisted  it  stern  first  and  it's  been  Hello  Island 
to  most  folks  ever  since. 

"Why  Jule  was  at  Hello  Island  is  too  long  a 
yarn.  Biled  down  it  amounts  to  a  voyage  on  a 
bark  out  of  Seattle,  and  a  first  mate  like  yours, 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        183 

Eri,  who  was  a  kind  of  Christian  Science  chap 
and  cured  sick  sailors  by  the  laying  on  of  hands 
— likewise  feet  and  belaying  pins  and  ax  handles 
and  such.  And,  according  to  Jule's  tell,  he  did 
cure  'em,  too.  After  he'd  jumped  up  and  down 
on  your  digestion  a  few  times  you  forgot  all  about 
the  disease  you  started  in  with  and  only  remem 
bered  the  complications.  Him  and  Julius  had 
their  final  argument  one  night  when  the  bark 
was  passing  abreast  one  of  the  Navigator  Islands, 
close  in.  Jule  hove  a  marlinespike  at  the  mate's 
head  and  jumped  overboard.  He  swum  ashore 
to  the  beach  and,  inside  of  a  week,  he'd  shipped 
aboard  the  Emily.  And  'twas  aboard  the  Emily, 
and  at  Hello  Island,  as  I  said  afore,  that  he  met 
Rosy. 

"George  Simmons — a  cockney  Britisher  he 
was,  and  skipper — was  standing  at  the  schooner's 
wheel,  swearing  at  the  two  Kanaka  sailors  who 
were  histing  the  jib.  Julius,  who  was  mate, 
was  roosting  on  the  lee  rail  amid-ships,  helping 
him  swear.  And  old  Teunis  Van  Doozen,  a 
Dutchman  from  Java  or  thereabouts,  who  was 
cook,  was  setting  on  a  stool  by  the  galley  door 
ready  to  heave  in  a  word  whenever  'twas  necessary. 
The  Kanakas  was  doing  the  work.  That  was 
the  usual  division  of  labor  aboard  the  Emily. 

"Well,  just  then  there  comes  a  yell  from  the 


1 84        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

bushes  along  the  shore.  Then  another  yell  and 
a  most  tremendous  cracking  and  smashing.  Then 
out  of  them  bushes  comes  tearing  a  little  man 
with  spectacles  and  a  black  enamel-cloth  carpets 
bag,  heaving  sand  like  a  steam-shovel  and  seem 
ingly  trying  his  best  to  fly.  And  astern  of  him 
comes  more  yells  and  a  big,  husky  Kanaka  woman, 
about  eight  foot  high  and  three  foot  in  the  beam, 
with  her  hands  stretched  out  and  her  ringers 
crooked. 

"Julius  used  to  swear  that  that  beach  was  all 
of  twenty  yards  wide  and  that  the  little  man  only 
lit  three  times  from  bush  to  wharf.  And  he 
didn't  stop  there.  He  fired  the  carpetbag  at  the 
schooner's  stern  and  then  spread  out  his  wings 
and  flew  after  it.  His  fingers  just  hooked  over 
the  rail  and  he  managed  to  haul  himself  aboard. 
Then  he  curled  up  on  the  deck  and  breathed  short 
but  spirited.  The  Kanaka  woman  danced  to 
the  stringpiece  and  whistled  distress  signals. 

"Cap'n  George  Simmons  looked  down  at  the 
wrecked  flying  machine  and  grunted. 

"'Umph!'  says  he.  'You  don't  look  like  a 
man  the  girls  would  run  after.  Lady  your  wife  ? 

"The  little  feller  bobbed  his  specs  up  and 
down. 

"So?*  says  George.  "Ow  can  I  bear  to 
leave  thee/  'ey  ?  Well,  ain't  you  ashamed  of 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        185 

yourself  to  be  running  off  and  leaving  a  nice, 
'andsome,  able-bodied  wife  that  like  ?  Look  at 
*er  now,  over  there  on  'er  knees  a  praying  for  you 
to  come  back/ 

"There  was  a  little  p'int  making  out  from  the 
beach  close  by  the  edge  of  the  channel  and  the 
woman  was  out  on  the  end  of  it,  down  on  all  fours. 
Her  husband  raised  up  and  looked  over  the  rail. 

"She  ain't  praying/  he  pants,  ducking  down 
again  quick.  'She's  a-picking  up  stones.' 

"And  so  she  was.  Julius  said  he  thought  sure 
she'd  cave  in  the  Emily's  ribs  afore  she  got  through 
with  her  broadsides.  The  rocks  flew  like  hail. 
Everybody  got  their  share,  but  Cap'n  George 
got  a  big  one  in  the  middle  of  the  back.  That 
took  his  breath  so  all  the  way  he  could  express 
his  feelings  was  to  reach  out  and  give  his  new 
passenger  half  a  dozen  kicks.  But  just  as  soon 
as  he  could  he  spoke,  all  right  enough. 

'You  mis'rable  four-eyed  shrimp!'  he  says. 
'  'Twould  serve  you  right  if  I  'ove  to  and  made  you 
swim  back  to  'er.  Blow  me  if  I  don't  believe  I 
will!' 

"'Aw,  don't,  Cap'n;  please  don't!'  begs  the 
feller.  Til  be  awful  grateful  to  you  if  you  won't. 
And  I'll  make  it  right  with  you,  too.  I've  got  a 
good  thing  in  that  bag  of  mine.  Yes,  sir!  A 
beautiful  good  thing.' 


186        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"Oh,  well/  says  the  skipper,  bracing  up  and 
smiling  sweet  as  he  could  for  the  ache  in  his  back. 
Til  'elp  you  out.  You  trust  your  Uncle  George. 
Not  on  account  of  what  you're  going  to  give  me, 
you  understand,'  says  he.  "It  would  be  a  pity 
if  that  was  the  reason  for  'elpin*  a  feller  creat — 
Sparrow,  if  you  touch  that  bag  I'll  break  your 
blooming  'ead.  'Ere!  you  'and  it  to  me.  I'll 
take  care  of  it  for  the  gentleman.' 

"All  the  rest  of  that  day  the  Cap'n  couldn't  do 
enough  for  the  passenger.  Give  him  a  big  dinner 
that  took  Teunis  two  hours  to  cook,  and  let  him 
use  his  own  pet  pipe  with  the  last  of  Jule's  tobacco 
in  it,  and  all  that.  And  that  evening  in  the  cabin, 
Rosy  told  his  story.  Seems  he  come  from  Bom 
bay  originally,  where  he  was  born  an  innocent 
and  trained  to  be  a  photographer.  This  was  in 
the  days  when  these  hand  cameras  wa'n't  so 
common  as  they  be  now,  and  Rosy — his  full  name 
was  Clarence  Rosebury,  and  he  looked  it — had 
a  fine  one.  Also  he  had  some  plates  and  photo 
graph  paper  and  a  jug  of  'developer'  and  bottles 
of  stuff  to  make  more,  wrapped  up  in  an  old 
overcoat  and  packed  away  in  the  carpetbag.  He 
had  landed  in  the  Fijis  first — off  and  had  drifted 
over  to  Hello  Island,  taking  pictures  of  places  and 
natives  and  so  on,  intending  to  use  'em  in  a  course 
of  lectures  he  was  going  to  deliver  when  he  got 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        187 

back  home.  He  boarded  with  the  Kanaka  lady 
at  Hello  till  his  money  give  out,  and  then  he  mar 
ried  her  to  save  board.  He  wouldn't  talk  about 
his  married  life — just  shivered  instead. 

"'But  w'at  about  this  good  thing  you  was 
mentioning,  Mr.  Rosebury?'  asks  Cap'n  George, 
polite,  but  staring  hard  at  the  bag.  Jule  and 
the  cook  was  in  the  cabin  likewise.  The  skipper 
would  have  liked  to  keep  'em  out,  but  they  being 
two  to  one,  he  couldn't. 

'That's  it,'  answers  Rosy,  cheerful. 

"'Wat's  it?' 

"'Why,  the  things  in  the  grip;  the  photograph 
things.  You  see,'  says  Rosy,  getting  excited, 
his  innocent,  dreamy  eyes  a-shining  behind  his 
specs  and  the  ridge  of  red  hair  around  his  bald 
spot  waving  like  a  hedge  of  sunflowers ; '  you  see,'  he 
says,  'my  experience  has  convinced  me  that  there's 
a  fortune  right  in  these  islands  for  a  photographer 
who'll  take  pictures  of  the  natives.  They're  all 
dying  to  have  their  photographs  took.  Why, 
when  I  was  in  Hello  Island  I  could  have  took 
dozens,  only  they  didn't  have  the  money  to  pay 
for  'em  and  I  couldn't  wait  till  they  got  some. 
But  you've  got  a  schooner.  You  could  sail 
around  from  one  island  to  another,  me  taking 
pictures  and  you  getting  copra  and — and  pearls 
and  things  from  the  natives  in  trade  for  'em. 


1 88        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

And  we'd  leave  a  standing  order  for  more  plates 
to  be  delivered  steady  from  the  steamer  at  Suva 
or  somewheres,  and— 

"Old  on!'  Cap'n  George  had  been  getting 
redder  and  redder  in  the  face  while  Rosy  was  talk 
ing,  and  now  he  fairly  biled  over,  like  a  teakettle. 
* 'Old  on!'  he  roars.  'Do  I  understand  that  this 
is  the  good  thing  you  was  going  to  let  me  in  on  ? 
Me  to  cruise  you  around  from  Dan  to  Beersheby, 
feeding  you,  and  giving  you  tobacco  to  smoke— 
"Twas  my  tobacco,'  breaks  in  Julius. 

"Shut  up!  Cruising  you  around,  and  you 
living  on  the  fat  of — of  the — the  water,  and  me 
trusting  to  get  my  pay  out  of  tintypes  of  Kanakas! 
Was  that  it  ?  Was  it  ?' 

"Why — why,  yes/  answers  Rosy.  'But,  cap'n, 
you  don't  understand— 

"'Then/  says  George,  standing  up  and  rolling 
up  his  pajama  sleeves,  'there's  going  to  be  justifi 
able  'omicide  committed  right  now.' 

"  Jule  said  that  if  it  hadn't  been  that  the  skip 
per's  sore  back  got  to  hurting  him  he  don't  know 
when  him  and  the  cook  would  have  had  their  turn 
at  Rosy.  'Course  they  wanted  a  turn  on  account 
of  the  tobacco  and  the  dinner,  not  to  mention  the 
stone  bruises.  When  all  hands  was  through,  that 
photographer  was  a  spiled  negative. 

"And   that   was    only   the    beginning.     They 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        189 

ain't  much  fun  abusing  Kanakas  because  they 
don't  talk  back,  but  first  along  Rosy  would  try 
to  talk  back,  and  that  give  'em  a  chance.  Julius 
had  learned  a  lot  of  things  from  that  mate  on  the 
bark,  and  he  tried  'em  all  on  that  tintype  man. 
And  afterward  they  invented  more.  They  made 
him  work  his  passage,  and  every  mean  and  dirty 
job  there  was  to  do,  he  had  to  do  it.  They  took 
his  clothes  away  from  him,  and,  while  they  lasted, 
the  skipper  had  three  shirts  at  once,  which  hadn't 
happened  afore  since  he  served  his  term  in  the 
Sydney  jail.  And  he  was  such  a  comfort  to  'em. 
Whenever  the  dinner  wa'n't  cooked  right,  instead 
of  blaming  Teunis,  they  took  it  out  of  Rosy.  By 
the  time  they  made  their  first  port  they  wouldn't 
have  parted  with  him  for  no  money,  and  they 
locked  him  up  in  the  fo'castle  and  kept  him  there. 
And  when  one  of  the  two  Kanaka  boys  run 
away  they  shipped  Rosy  in  his  place  by  un 
animous  vote.  And  so  it  went  for  six  months, 
the  Emily  trading  and  stealing  all  around  the 
South  Seas. 

"One  day  the  schooner  was  off"  in  an  out-of-the 
way  part  of  the  ocean,  and  the  skipper  come  up 
from  down  below,  bringing  one  of  the  photo 
graphing  bottles  from  the  carpetbag. 

"See  'ere,'  says  he  to  Rosy,  who  was  swab 
bing  decks  just  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief,  'w'at 


190       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

kind  of  a  developer  stuff  is  this  ?     It  has  a  mighty 
familiar  smell.' 

'That    ain't    developer,    sir,'    answers    Rosy, 

meek  as  usual.     'That's  alcohol.     I  use  it ' 

"Alcohol!'  says  George.  'Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you've  'ad  alcohol  aboard  all  this 
time  and  never  said  a  word  to  one  of  us  ?  If  that 
ain't  just  like  you!  Of  all  the  ungrateful  beasts 
as  ever  I ' 

"When  him  and  the  other  two  got  through 
convincing  Rosy  that  he  was  ungrateful,  they 
took  that  bottle  into  the  cabin  and  begun  experi 
menting.  Julius  had  lived  a  few  months  in 
Maine,  which  is  a  prohibition  State,  and  so  he  knew 
how  to  make  alcohol  'splits' — one-half  wet  fire 
and  the  rest  water.  They  'split'  for  five  days. 
Then  the  alcohol  was  all  out  and  the  Emily  was 
all  in,  being  stove  up  on  a  coral  reef  two  mile  off 
shore  of  a  little  island  that  nobody'd  ever  seen 
afore. 

"They  got  into  the  boat — the  four  white  men 
and  the  Kanaka — histed  the  sail,  and  headed  for 
the  beach.  They  landed  all  right  and  was  wel 
comed  by  a  reception  committee  of  fifteen  husky 
cannibals  with  spears,  dressed  mainly  in  bone 
necklaces  and  sunshine.  The  committee  was 
glad  to  see  'em,  and  showed  it,  particular  to 
Teunis,  who  was  fat.  Rosy,  being  principally 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST 

framework  by  this  time,  wa'n't  nigh  so  popular; 
but  he  didn't  seem  to  care. 

"The  darkies  tied  'em  up  good  and  proper 
and  then  held  a  committee  meeting,  arguing,  so 
Julius  cal'lated,  whether  to  serve  'em  plain  or 
with  greens.  While  the  rest  was  making  up  the 
bill  of  fare,  a  few  set  to  work  unpacking  the  bags 
and  things,  Rosy's  satchel  among  'em.  Pretty 
soon  there  was  an  awful  jabbering. 

"'They've  settled  it,'  says  George,  doleful. 
'Well,  there's  enough  of  Teunis  to  last  'em  for 
one  meal,  if  they  ain't  'ogs.  You're  a  tough 
old  bird,  cooky;  maybe  you'll  give  'em  dyspepsy, 
so  they  won't  care  for  the  rest  of  us.  That's  a 
ray  of  'ope,  ain't  it  ?' 

"But  the  cook  didn't  seem  to  get  much  hope 
out  of  it.  He  was  busy  telling  the  skipper  what  he 
thought  of  him  when  the  natives  come  up.  They 
was  wildly  excited,  and  two  or  three  of  'em  was 
waving  square  pieces  of  cardboard  in  their  hands. 

"And  here's  where  the  Emily's  gang  had  a 
streak  of  luck.  The  Kanaka  sailor  couldn't 
talk  much  English,  but  it  seems  that  his  granddad, 
or  some  of  his  ancestors,  must  have  belonged  to 
the  same  breed  of  cats  as  these  islanders,  for  he 
could  manage  to  understand  a  little  of  their  lingo. 

"Picture!'  says  he,  crazy-like  with  joy.  'Pic 
ture,  cappy;  picture!' 


192       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"When  Rosy  was  new  on  board  the  schooner, 
afore  George  and  the  rest  had  played  with  him 
till  he  was  an  old  story,  one  of  their  games  was 
to  have  him  take  their  photographs.  He'd  taken 
the  cap'n's  picture,  and  Julius's  and  Van  Doozen's. 
The  pictures  was  a  Rogues'  Gallery  that  would 
have  got  'em  hung  on  suspicion  anywhere  in 
civilization,  but  these  darkies  wa'n't  particular. 
Anyhow  they  must  have  been  good  likenesses,, 
for  the  committee  see  the  resemblance  right  off. 

'They    t'ink    witchcraft/    says    the    Kanaka. 
'Want  to  know  how  make/ 

"Lord!'  says  George.  'You  tell  'em  we're 
witches  from  Witch  Center.  Tell  'em  we  make 
them  kind  of  things  with  our  eyes  shut,  and  if 
they  eat  us  we'll  send  our  tintypes  to  'aunt  'em 
into  their  graves.  Tell  'em  that  quick.' 

"Well,  I  guess  the  Kanaka  obeyed  orders, 
for  the  islanders  was  all  shook  up.  They  jab 
bered  and  hurrahed  like  a  parrot-house  for  ten 
minutes  or  so.  Then  they  untied  the  feet  of  their 
Sunday  dinners,  got  'em  into  line,  and  marched 
'em  off  across  country,  prodding  'em  with  their 
spears,  either  to  see  which  was  the  tenderest  or 
to  make  'em  step  livelier,  I  don't  know  which. 

"Julius  said  that  was  the  most  nervous  walk 
ever  he  took.  Said  afore  'twas  done  he  was  so- 
leaky  with  spear  holes  that  he  cast  a  shadder  like 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        193 

a  skimmer.  Just  afore  sunset  they  come  to  the 
other  side  of  the  island,  where  there  was  a  good 
sized  native  village,  with  houses  made  of  grass 
and  cane,  and  a  big  temple-like  in  the  middle, 
decorated  fancy  and  cheerful  with  skulls  and 
spareribs.  Jule  said  there  was  places  where  the 
decorations  needed  repairs,  and  he  figgered  he 
was  just  in  time  to  finish  'em.  But  he  didn't 
take  no  pride  in  it;  none  of  his  folks  cared  for  art. 

"The  population  was  there  to  meet  'em,  and 
even  the  children  looked  hungry.  Anybody  could 
see  that  having  company  drop  in  for  dinner  was 
right  to  their  taste.  There  was  a  great  chair 
arrangement  in  front  of  the  temple,  and  on  it  was 
the  fattest,  ugliest,  old  liver-colored  woman  that 
Julius  ever  see.  She  was  rigged  up  regardless, 
with  a  tooth  necklace  and  similar  jewelry;  and 
it  turned  out  that  she  was  the  queen  of  the  bunch. 
Most  of  them  island  tribes  have  chiefs,  but  this 
district  was  strong  for  woman  suffrage. 

"Well,  the  visitors  had  made  a  hit,  but  Rosy's 
photographs  made  a  bigger  one.  The  queen  and 
the  head  men  of  the  village  pawed  over  'em  and 
compared  'em  with  the  originals  and  powwowed 
like  a  sewing  circle.  Then  they  called  up  the 
Kanaka  sailor,  and  he  preached  witchcraft  and 
hoodoos  to  beat  the  cars,  lying  as  only  a  feller  that 
knows  the  plates  are  warming  for  him  on  the  back 


I94       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

of  the  stove  can  lie.  Finally  the  queen  wanted  to 
know  if  the  'long  pigs'  could  make  a  witch  picture 
of  her. 

"Tell  'er  yes/  yells  George,  when  the  question 
was  translated  to  him.  'Tell  'er  we're  picture- 
makers  by  special  app'intment  to  the  Queen  and 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  Tell  'er  we'll  make  'er 
look  like  the  sweetest  old  chocolate  drop  in  the 
taffy-shop.  Only  be  sure  and  say  we  must  'ave 
a  day  or  so  to  work  the  spells  and  put  on  the 
kibosh.' 

"So  'twas  settled,  and  dinner  was  put  off  for 
that  night,  anyhow.  And  the  next  day  being 
sunny,  Rosy  took  the  queen's  picture.  'Twas 
an  awful  strain  on  the  camera,  but  it  stood  it  fine; 
and  the  photographs  he  printed  up  that  afternoon 
\vas  the  most  horrible  collection  of  mince-pie 
dreams  that  ever  a  sane  man  run  afoul  of.  Rosy 
used  one  of  the  grass  huts  for  a  dark  room;  and 
\vhile  he  was  developing  them  plates,  they  could 
hear  him  screaming  from  sheer  fright  at  being 
shut  up  alone  with  'em  in  the  dark. 

"But  her  majesty  thought  they  was  lovely, 
and  set  and  grinned  proud  at  'em  for  hours  at  a 
stretch.  And  the  wizards  was  untied  and  fed 
up  and  given  the  best  house  in  town  to  live  in. 
And  Cap'n  George  and  Julius  and  the  cook  got 
to  feeling  so  cheerful  and  happy  that  they  begun 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST       195 

to  kick  Rosy  again,  just  out  of  habit.  And  so  it 
went  on  for  three  days. 

"Then  comes  the  Kanaka  interpreter — grin 
ning  kind  of  foolish. 

"Cappy/  says  he,  'queen,  she  likes  you.  She 
likes  you  much  lot.' 


ROSY  TOOK  THE  QUEEN'S  PICTURE. 

"'Well/  says  the  skipper,  modest,  'she'd  ought 
to.  She  don't  see  a  man  like  me  every  day.  She 
ain't  the  first  woman,'  he  says. 

' '  She  like  all  you  gentlemen/  says  the  Kanaka. 


196        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

'She  say  she  want  witch  husband.     One  of  you 
got  marry  her/ 

"Hey?'  yells  all  hands,  setting  up. 
'Yes,  sir.     She  no  care  which  one,  but  one 
white    man    must    marry    her    to-morrow.     Else 
we  all  go  chop  plenty  quick/ 

"'Chop'  is  Kanaka  English  for  'eat.'  There 
wa'n't  no  need  for  the  boy  to  explain. 

"Then  there  was  times.  They  come  pretty 
nigh  to  a  fight,  because  Teunis  and  Jule  argued 
that  the  skipper,  being  such  a  ladies'  man,  was 
the  natural-born  choice.  Just  as  things  was  the 
warmest,  Cap'n  George  had  an  idea. 

"'Rosy!'  says  he. 

"'Hey  ?'  says  the  others.  Then,  'Rosy  ?  Why, 
of  course,  Rosy's  the  man.' 

"But  Rosy  wa'n't  agreeable.  Julius  said  he 
never  see  such  a  stubborn  mule  in  his  life.  They 
tried  every  reasonable  way  they  could  to  con 
vince  him,  pounding  him  on  the  head  and  the 
like  of  that,  but  'twas  no  go. 

"I  got  a  wife  already,'  he  says,  whimpering. 
'And,  besides,  cap'n,  there  wouldn't  be  such  a 
contrast  in  looks  between  you  and  her  as  there 
would  with  me.' 

"He  meant  so  far  as  size  went,  but  George 
took  it  the  other  way,  and  there  was  more  trouble. 
Finally  Julius  come  to  the  rescue. 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROSr       197 

"'I  tell  you,'  says  he.  'We'll  be  square  and 
draw  straws!' 

"'Wat  ?'  hollers  George.     'Well,  I  guess  not!' 

"'And  I'll  hold  the  straws,'  says  Jule,  winking 
on  the  side. 

"So  they  drew  straws,  and,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  Rosy  got  stuck.  He  cried  all  night,  and 
though  the  others  tried  to  comfort  him,  telling 
him  what  a  lucky  man  he  was  to  marry  a  queen, 
he  wouldn't  cheer  up  a  mite. 

"And  next  day  the  wedding  took  place  in  the 
temple  in  front  of  a  wood  idol  with  three  rows  of 
teeth,  and  as  ugly  almost  as  the  bride,  which  was 
saying  a  good  deal.  And  when  'twas  over,  the 
three  shipmates  come  and  congratulated  the 
groom,  wishing  him  luck  and  a  happy  honey 
moon  and  such.  Oh,  they  had  a  bully  time,  and 
they  was  still  laughing  over  it  that  night  after 
supper,  when  down  comes  a  file  of  big  darkies 
with  spears,  the  Kanaka  interpreter  leading  'em. 

"Cappy,'  says  he.  'The  king  say  you  no 
stay  in  this  house  no  more.  He  say  too  good 
for  you.  Say,  bimeby,  when  the  place  been 
clean  up,  maybe  he  use  it  himself.  You  got  to  go.' 
"Who  says  this?'  roars  Cap'n  George,,  ugly 
as  could  be. 

"The  king,  he  say  it.' 

"The  queen,  you  mean.   There  ain't  no  king.' 


198        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

'Yes,  sir.     King  and  queen  now.     Mr.  Rosy 
he  king.     All  tribe  proud  to  have  witch  king.' 

"The  three  looked  at  each  other. 

"'Do  you  mean  to  say,'  says  the  skipper, 
choking  so  he  could  hardly  speak,  'that  we've 
got  to  take  orders  from  'im?' 

'Yes,  sir.     King  say  you  no  mind,  we  make.' 

"Well,  sir,  the  language  them  three  used  must 
have  been  something  awful,  judging  by  Jule's  tell. 
But  when  they  vowed  they  wouldn't  move,  the 
spears  got  busy  and  out  they  had  to  get  and  into 
the  meanest,  dirtiest  little  hut  in  the  village,  one 
without  hardly  any  sides  and  great  holes  in  the 
roof.  And  there  they  stayed  all  night  in  a 
pouring  rain,  the  kind  of  rains  you  get  in  them 
islands. 

"Twa'n't  a  nice  night.  They  tried  huddling 
together  to  keep  dry,  but  'twa'n't  a  success  be 
cause  there  was  always  a  row  about  who  should 
be  in  the  middle.  Then  they  kept  passing  per 
sonal  remarks  to  one  another. 

"If  the  skipper  hadn't  been  so  gay  and  uppish 
about  choosing  Rosy,'  says  Julius,  'there  wouldn't 
have  been  no  trouble.  I  do  hate  a  smart 
Aleck.' 

"Who  said  draw  straws?'  sputters  George, 
mad  clean  through.  'And  who  'eld  'em?  'Ey? 
Who  did  ?  ' 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        199 

"'Well/  says  Teunis,  '/  didn't  do  it.  You 
Can't  blame  me/ 

"No.  You  set  there  like  a  bump  on  a  log  and 
let  me  and  the  mate  put  our  feet  in  it.  You  old 
fat'ead!  I ' 

"They  pitched  into  the  cook  until  he  got  mad 
and  hit  the  skipper.  Then  there  was  a  fight 
that  lasted  till  they  was  all  scratched  up  and  tired 
out.  The  only  thing  they  could  agree  on  was 
that  Rosy  was  what  the  skipper  called  a  'viper' 
that  they'd  nourished  in  their  bosoms. 

"Next  morning  'twas  worse  than  ever.  Down 
comes  the  Kanaka  with  his  spear  gang  and  routs 
'em  out  and  sets  'em  to  gathering  breadfruit  all 
day  in  the  hot  sun.  And  at  night  'twas  back 
to  the  leaky  hut  again. 

"And  that  wa'n't  nothing  to  what  come  later. 
The  lives  that  King  Rosy  led  them  three  was 
something  awful.  'Twas  dig  in  and  work  day  in 
and  day  out.  Teunis  had  to  get  his  majesty's 
meals,  and  nothing  was  ever  cooked  right;  and 
then  the  royal  army  got  after  the  steward  with 
spear  handles.  Cap'n  George  had  to  clean  up 
the  palace  every  day,  and  Rosy  and  the  queen — 
who  was  dead  gone  on  her  witch  husband,  and  let 
him  do  anything  he  wanted  to — stood  over  him 
and  found  fault  and  punched  him  with  sharp 
sticks  to  see  him  jump.  And  Julius  had  to  fetch 


200  THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

and  cany  and  wait,  and  get  on  his  knees  when 
ever  he  spoke  to  the  king,  and  be  helped  up  again 
with  a  kick,  like  as  not. 

"  Rosy  took  back  all  his  own  clothes  that  they'd 
stole,  and  then  he  took  theirs  for  good  measure. 
He  made  'em  marry  the  three  ugliest  old  women  on 
the  island — his  own  bride  excepted — and  when 
they  undertook  to  use  a  club  or  anything,  he  had 
them  licked  instead.  He  wore  'em  down  to  skin 
and  bone.  Jule  said  you  wouldn't  believe  a 
mortal  man  could  treat  his  feller  creatures  so 
low  down  and  mean.  And  the  meanest  part  of 
it  was  that  he  always  called  'em  the  names  that 
they  used  to  call  him  aboard  ship.  Sometimes 
he  invented  new  ones,  but  not  often,  because 
'twa'n't  necessary. 

"For  a  good  six  months  this  went  on — just 
the  same  length  of  time  that  Rosy  was  aboard 
the  Emily.  Then,  one  morning  early,  Julius 
looks  out  of  one  of  the  holes  in  the  roof  of  his 
house  and,  off  on  the  horizon,  heading  in,  he  sees 
a  small  steamer,  a  pleasure  yacht  'twas.  He  lets 
out  a  yell  that  woke  up  the  village,  and  races 
head  first  for  the  Emily  s  boat  that  had  been 
rowed  around  from  the  other  side  of  the  island, 
and  laid  there  with  her  oars  and  sail  still  in  her. 
And  behind  him  comes  Van  Doozen  and  Cap'n 
George. 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST        201 

"Into  the  boat  they  piled,  while  the  islanders 
were  getting  their  eyes  open  and  gaping  at  the 
steamer.  There  wa'n't  no  time  to  get  up  sail, 
so  they  grabbed  for  the  oars.  She  stuck  on  the 
sand  just  a  minute;  and,  in  that  minute,  down 
from  the  palace  comes  King  Rosy,  running  the 
way  he  run  from  his  first  wife  over  at  Hello.  He 
leaped  over  the  stern,  picked  up  the  other  oar,  and 
off  they  put  across  the  lagoon.  The  rudder  was 
in  its  place  and  so  was  the  tiller,  but  they  couldn't 
use  'em  then. 

"They  had  a  good  start,  but  afore  they'd  got 
very  far  the  natives  had  waked  up  and  were  after 
'em  in  canoes. 

'"'Ere!'  screams  Cap'n  George.  'This  won't 
do!  They'll  catch  us  sure.  Get  sail  on  to  'er 
lively!  Somebody  take  that  tiller.' 

"Rosy,  being  nearest,  took  the  tiller  and  the 
others  got  up  the  sail.  Then  'twas  nip  and  tuck 
with  the  canoes  for  the  opening  of  the  barrier 
reef  at  the  other  side  of  the  lagoon.  But  they 
made  it  first,  and,  just  as  they  did,  out  from 
behind  the  cliff  comes  the  big  steam-yacht,  all 
white  and  shining,  with  sailors  in  uniform  on  her 
decks,  and  awnings  flapping,  and  four  mighty 
pretty  women  leaning  over  the  side.  All  of  the 
Emily  gang  set  up  a  whoop  of  joy,  and  'twas 
answered  from  the  yacht. 


202        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"Saved!'  hollers  Cap'n  George.  'Saved,  by 
thunder!  And  now,'  says  he,  knocking  his  fists 
together,  '  now  to  get  square  with  that  four-eyed 
thief  in  the  stern!  Come  on,  boys!' 

"Him  and  Julius  and  Teunis  made  a  flying 
leap  aft  to  get  at  Rosy.  But  Rosy  see  'em  coming, 
jammed  the  tiller  over,  the  boom  swung  across 
and  swept  the  the  three  overboard  pretty  as  you 
please. 

"There  was  a  scream  from  the  yacht.  Rosy 
give  one  glance  at  the  women.  Then  he  tossed 
his  arms  over  his  head. 

"Courage,  comrades!'  he  shouts.  Til  save 
you  or  die  with  you!' 

"And  overboard  he  dives,  'kersplash!' 

"Julius  said  him  and  the  skipper  could  have 
swum  all  right  if  Rosy  had  give  'em  the  chance, 
but  he  didn't.  He  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of 
that.  He  grabbed  'em  round  the  necks  and  kept 
hauling  'em  under  and  splashing  and  kicking 
like  a  water-mill.  All  hands  was  pretty  well 
used  up  when  they  was  pulled  aboard  the  yacht. 

"Oh,  you  brave  man!'  says  one  of  the  women, 
stooping  over  Rosy,  who  was  sprawled  on  the  deck 
with  his  eyes  shut,  'Oh,  you  hero!' 

'"Are  they  living?  '  asks  Rosy,  faint-like  and 
opening  one  eye.  'Good!  Now  I  can  die  con 
tent.' 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST       203 

"'Living!'  yells  George,  soon's  he  could  get  the 
salt  water  out  of  his  mouth.  'Living!  By  the 
'oly  Peter!  Let  me  at 'im!  I'll  show 'im  whether 
I'm  living  or  not!' 

"What  ails  you,  you  villain?  '  says  the  feller 
that  owned  the  yacht,  a  great  big  Englishman, 
Lord  Somebody-or-other.  'The  man  saved  your 
lives.' 

"He  knocked  us  overboard!'  yells  Julius. 
'Yes,    and    he    done    it    a-purpose!'    sputters 
Van  Doozen,  well  as  he  could  for  being  so  water 
logged. 

'"Let's  kill  him!'  says  all  three. 

"Did  it  on  purpose!'  says  the  lord,  scornful, 
'  Likely  he'd  throw  you  over  and  then  risk  his  life 
to  save  you.  Here!'  says  he  to  the  mate.  'Take 
those  ungrateful  rascals  below.  Give  'em  dry 
clothes  and  then  set  'em  to  work — hard  work; 
understand  ?  As  for  this  poor,  brave  chap,  take 
him  to  the  cabin.  I  hope  he'll  pull  through,' 
says  he. 

"And  all  the  rest  of  the  voyage,  which  was  to 
Melbourne,  Julius  and  his  two  chums  had  to  slave 
and  work  like  common  sailors,  while  Rosy,  the 
hero  invalid,  wras  living  on  beef  tea  and  jelly  and 
champagne,  and  being  petted  and  fanned  by  the 
lord's  wife  and  the  other  women.  And  'twas 
worse  toward  the  end,  when  he  pretended  to  be 


204       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

feeling  better,  and  could  set  in  a  steamer-chair 
on  deck  and  grin  and  make  sarcastic  remarks 
under  his  breath  to  George  and  he  other  two 
when  they  was  holystoning  or  scrubbing  in  the 
heat. 

"At  Melbourne  they  hung  around  the  wharf, 
waiting  to  lick  him,  till  the  lord  had  'em  took  up 
for  vagrants.  When  they  got  out  of  the  lockup 
they  found  Rosy  had  gone.  And  his  lordship 
had  given  him  money  and  clothes,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all. 

"Julius  said  that  Rosy's  meanness  sickened 
him  of  the  sea.  Said  'twas  time  to  retire  when 
such  reptiles  was  afloat.  So  he  come  home  and 
married  the  scrub-woman  at  the  Bay  View  House. 
He  lived  with  her  till  she  lost  her  job.  I  don't 

know  where  he  is  now." 

****** 

'Twas  purty  quiet  for  a  few  minutes  after 
Jonadab  had  unloaded  this  yarn.  Everybody 
was  busy  trying  to  swaller  his  share  of  the  state 
ments  in  it,  I  cal'late.  Peter  T.  looked  at  the 
Cap'n,  admiring  but  reproachful. 

"Wixon,"  says  he.  "I  didn't  know  'twas  in 
you.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"Oh,"  says  Jonadab,  "I  ain't  responsible. 
Twas  Jule  Sparrow  that  told  it  to  me." 

"Humph!"  says  Peter.     "I  wish  you  knew  his 


THE  MEANNESS  OF  ROST       205 

address.  I'd  like  to  hire  him  to  write  the  Old 
Home  ads.  I  thought  my  invention  was  A  I, 
but  I'm  in  the  kindergarten.  Well,  let's  go  to 
bed  before  somebody  tries  to  win  the  prize  from 
Sparrow." 

'Twas    after  eleven  by  then,  so,  as  his  advice 
looked  good,  we  follered  it. 


THE   ANTIQUERS 


THE  ANTIQUERS 

We've  all  got  a  crazy  streak  in  us  somewheres, 
I  cal'late,  only  the  streaks  don't  all  break  out  in 
the  same  place,  which  is  a  mercy,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it.  One  feller  starts  tooting  a  fish 
horn  and  making  announcements  that  he's  the 
Angel  Gabriel.  Another  poor  sufferer  shows 
his  first  symptom  by  having  his  wife's  relations 
come  and  live  with  him.  One  ends  in  the  asylum 
and  t'other  in  the  poorhouse;  that's  the  main 
difference  in  them  cases.  Jim  Jones  fiddles  with 
perpetual  motion  and  Sam  Smith  develops  a  sure 
plan  for  busting  Wall  Street  and  getting  rich 
sudden.  I  take  summer  boarders  maybe,  and 
you  collect  postage  stamps.  Oh,  we're  all  looney, 
more  or  less,  every  one  of  us. 

Speaking  of  collecting  reminds  me  of  the  "An- 
tiquers" — that's  what  Peter  T.  Brown  called 
'em.  They  put  up  at  the  Old  Home  House — 
summer  before  last;  and  at  a  crank  show  they'd 
have  tied  for  the  blue  ribbon.  There  was  the 
Dowager  and  the  Duchess  and  "My  Daughter" 


210       'THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE'9 

and  "Irene  dear."  Likewise  there  was  Thomp* 
son  and  Small,  but  they,  being  nothing  but  hus 
bands  and  fathers,  didn't  count  for  much  first 
along,  except  when  board  was  due  or  "antiques" 
had  to  be  settled  for. 

The  Dowager  fetched  port  first.  She  hove 
alongside  the  Old  Home  one  morning  early  in 
July,  and  she  had  "My  Daughter"  in  tow.  The 
names,  as  entered  on  the  shipping  list,  was  Mrs. 
Milo  Patrick  Thompson  and  Miss  Barbara  Mil- 
licent  Thompson,  but  Peter  T.  Brown  he  had 
'em  re-entered  as  "The  Dowager"  and  "My 
Daughter"  almost  as  soon  as  they  dropped  anchor. 
Thompson  himself  come  poking  up  to  the  dock 
on  the  following  Saturday  night;  Peter  didn't 
christen  him,  except  to  chuck  out  something 
about  Milo's  being  an  "also  ran." 

The  Dowager  was  skipper  of  the  Thompson 
craft,  with  "My  daughter" — that's  what  her  ma 
always  called  her — as  first  mate,  and  Milo  as 
general  roustabout  and  purser. 

'Twould  have  done  you  good  to  see  the  fleet 
run  into  the  breakfast  room  of  a  morning,  with 
the  Dowager  leading,  under  full  sail,  Barbara 
close  up  to  her  starboard  quarter,  and  Milo 
tailing  out  a  couple  of  lengths  astern.  The  other 
boarders  looked  like  quahaug  dories  abreast  of 
the  Marblehead  Yacht  Club.  Oh,  the  Thomp- 


THE  ANTIQUERS  211 

sons  won  every  cup  until  the  Smalls  arrived  on  a 
Monday;  then  'twas  a  dead  heat. 

Mamma  Small  was  built  on  the  lines  of  old 
lady  Thompson,  only  more  so,  and  her  daughter 
flew  pretty  nigh  as  many  pennants  as  Barbara. 
Peter  T.  had  'em  labeled  the  "Duchess"  and 
"Irene  dear"  in  a  jiffy.  He  didn't  nickname 
Small  any  more'n  he  had  Thompson,  and  for  the 
same  reasons.  Me  and  Cap'n  Jonadab  called 
Small  "Eddie"  behind  his  back,  'count  of  his 
wife's  hailing  him  as  "Edwin." 

Well,  the  Dowager  and  the  Duchess  sized  each 
other  up,  and,  recognizing  I  jedge,  that  they  was 
sister  ships,  set  signals  and  agreed  to  cruise  in 
company  and  watch  out  for  pirates — meaning 
young  men  without  money  who  might  want  to 
talk  to  their  daughters.  In  a  week  the  four 
women  was  thicker  than  hasty-pudding  and  had 
thrones  on  the  piazza  where  they  could  patronize 
everybody  short  of  the  Creator,  and  criticize  the 
other  boarders.  Milo  and  Eddie  got  friendly 
too,  and  found  a  harbor  behind  the  barn  where 
they  could  smoke  and  swap  sympathy. 

Twas  fair  weather  for  pretty  near  a  fortni't, 
and  then  she  thickened  up.  The  special  brand 
of  craziness  in  Wellmouth  that  season  was  col 
lecting  "antiques,"  the  same  being  busted  chairs 
and  invalid  bureaus  and  sofys  that  your  great 


212       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

grandmarm  got  ashamed  of  and  sent  to  the  sick 
bay  a  thousand  year  ago.  Oh,  yes,  and  dishes! 
If  there  was  one  thing  that  would  drive  a  city 
woman  to  counting  her  fingers  and  cutting  paper 
dolls,  'twas  a  nicked  blue  plate  with  a  Chinese 
picture  on  it.  And  the  homelier  the  plate  the 
higher  the  price.  Why  there  was  as  many  as  six 
families  that  got  enough  money  for  the  rubbage 
in  their  garrets  to  furnish  their  houses  all  over 
with  brand  new  things — real  shiny,  hand-painted 
stuff,  not  haircloth  ruins  with  music  box  springs, 
nor  platters  that  you  had  to  put  a  pan  under  for 
fear  of  losing  cargo. 

I  don't  know  who  fetched  the  disease  to  the 
Old  Home  House.  All  I'm  sartain  of  is  that 
'twan't  long  afore  all  hands  was  in  that  condition 
where  the  doctor'd  have  passed  'em  on  to  the 
parson.  First  along  it  seemed  as  if  the  Thompson- 
Small  syndicate  had  been  vaccinated — they 
didn't  develop  a  symptom.  But  one  noon  the 
Dowager  sails  into  the  dining-room  and  unfurls 
a  brown  paper  bundle. 

"I've  captured  a  prize,  my  dear,"  says  she 
to  the  Duchess.  "A  veritable  prize.  Just 
look!" 

And  she  dives  under  the  brown  paper  hatches 
and  resurrects  a  pink  plate,  suffering  from  yaller 
jaundice,  with  the  picture  of  a  pink  boy,  wearing 


THE  ANTIQUERS  213 

curls  and  a  monkey-jacket,  holding  hands  with 
a  pink  girl  with  pointed  feet. 

"Ain't  it  perfectly  lovely?  "  says  she,  waving 
the  outrage  in  front  of  the  Duchess.  "A  ginu- 
wine  Hall  nappy!  And  in  such  condition*" 

"Why,"  says  the  Duchess,  "I  didn't  know  you 
were  interested  in  antiques." 

"  I  dote  on  'em,"  comes  back  the  Dowager,  and 
"my  daughter"  owned  up  that  she  "adored"  'em. 

"If  you  knew,"  continues  Mrs.  Thompson, 
"how  I've  planned  and  contrived  to  get  this 
treasure.  I've  schemed —  My!  my!  My 
daughter  says  she's  actually  ashamed  of  me.  Oh, 
no!  I  can't  tell  even  you  where  I  got  it.  All's 
fair  in  love  and  collecting,  you  know,  and  there 
are  more  gems  where  this  came  from." 

She  laughed  and  "my  daughter"  laughed,  and 
the  Duchess  and  "Irene  dear''  laughed,  too,  and 
said  the  plate  was  "so  quaint,"  and  all  that,  hut 
you  could  fairly  hear  'em  turn  green  with  jealeusy. 
It  didn't  need  a  spyglass  to  see  that  they  wouldn't 
ride  easy  at  their  own  moorings  till  they'd  landed 
a  treasure  or  two — probably  two. 

And  sure  enough,  in  a  couple  of  days  they  bore 
down  on  the  Thompsons,  all  sail  set  and  colors 
flying.  They  had  a  pair  of  plates  that  for  ugliness 
and  prke  knocked  the  "ginuwine  Hall  nappy" 
higher  'n  the  main  truck.  And  the  way  they 


214       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

crowed  and  bragged  about  their  "finds"  wa'n\  t 
to  put  in  the  log.  The  Dowager  and  "my  daugh 
ter"  left  that  dinner  table  trembling  all  over. 

Well,  you  can  see  how  a  v'yage  would  end  that 
commenced  that  way.  The  Dowager  and  Bar 
bara  would  scour  the  neighborhood  and  capture 
more  prizes,  and  the  Duchess  and  her  tribe  would 
get  busy  and  go  'em  one  better.  That's  one  sure 
p'int  about  the  collecting  business — it'll  stir  up 
a  fight  quicker'n  anything  I  know  of,  except 
maybe  a  good  looking  bachelor  minister.  The 
female  Thompsons  and  Smalls  was  "my  dear-in" 
each  other  more'n  ever,  but  there  was  a  chill 
setting  in  round  them  piazza  thrones,  and  some  of 
the  sarcastic  remarks  that  was  casually  hove  out 
by  the  bosom  friends  was  pretty  nigh  sharp  enough 
to  shave  with.  As  for  Milo  and  Eddie,  they  still 
smoked  together  behind  the  barn,  but  the  atmos 
phere  on  the  quarter-deck  was  affecting  the 
fo'castle  and  there  wa'n't  quite  so  many  "old 
mans"  and  "dear  boys"  as  there  used  to  was. 
There  was  a  general  white  frost  coming,  and  you 
didn't  need  an  Old  Farmer's  Almanac  to  prove  it. 

The  spell  of  weather  developed  sudden.  One 
evening  rne  and  Cap'n  Jonadab  and  Peter  T. 
was  having  a  confab  by  the  steps  of  the  billiard- 
room,  when  Milo  beats  up  from  around  the  cor 
ner.  He  was  smiling  as  a  basket  of  chips. 


THE  ANTIQUERS  215 

"Hello!"  hails  Peter  T.  cordial.  "You  look 
as  if  you'd  had  money  left  you.  Any  one  else 
remembered  in  the  will  ?"  he  says. 

Milo  laughed  all  over.  "Well,  well/'  says  he, 
"I  am  feeling  pretty  good.  Made  a  ten-strike 
with  Mrs.  T.  this  afternoon  for  sure." 

"That  so  ?  "  says  Peter.  "What's  up  ?  Hooked  a 
prince  ?" 

A  friend  of  "my  daughter's"  over  at  Newport 
had  got  engaged  to  a  mandarin  or  a  count  or 
something  'nother,  and  the  Dowager  had  been 
preaching  kind  of  eloquent  concerning  the  short 
ness  of  the  nobility  crop  round  Wellmouth. 

"No,"  says  Milo,  laughing  again.  "Nothing 
like  that.  But  I  have  got  hold  of  that  antique 
davenport  she's  been  dying  to  capture." 

One  of  the  boarders  at  the  hotel  over  to  Harniss 
had  been  out  antiquing  a  week  or  so  afore  and  had 
bagged  a  contraption  which  answered  to  the  name 
of  a  "ginuwine  Sheriton  davenport."  The  dow 
ager  heard  of  it,  and  ever  since  she'd  been  re* 
marking  that  some  people  had  husbands  who 
cared  enough  for  their  wives  to  find  things  that 
pleased  'em.  She  wished  she  was  lucky  enough 
to  have  that  kind  of  a  man;  but  no,  she  had  to 
depend  on  herself,  and  etcetery  and  so  forth. 
Maybe  you've  heard  sermons  similar. 

So  we  was  glad  for  Milo  and  said  so.     Likewise 


216       TH£  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

we  wanted  to  know  where  he  found  the  davenport. 

"Why,  up  here  in  the  woods,"  says  Milo,  "at 
the  house  of  a  queer  old  stick,  name  of  Rogers.  I 
forget  his  front  name — 'twas  longer'n  the  daven 
port." 

"Not  Adoniram  Rogers  ?  "  says  Cap'n  Jonadab, 
wondering. 

"That's  him,"  says  Thompson. 

Now,  I  knew  Adoniram  Rogers.  His  house 
was  old  enough,  Lord  knows;  but  that  a  feller 
with  a  nose  for  a  bargain  like  his  should  have 
hung  on  to  a  salable  piece  of  dunnage  so  long  as 
this  seemed  'most  too  tough  to  believe. 

"Well,  I  swan  to  man!"  says  I.  "Adoniram 
Rogers!  Have  you  seen  the — the  davenport 
thing?" 

"Sure  I've  seen  it!"  says  Milo.  "I  ain't  much 
of  a  jedge,  and  of  course  I  couldn't  question 
Rogers  too  much  for  fear  he'd  stick  on  the  price. 
But  it's  an  old  davenport,  and  it's  got  Sheriton 
lines  and  I've  got  the  refusal  of  it  till  to-morrow, 
when  Mrs.  T's  going  up  to  inspect." 

"Told  Small  yet?"  asked  Peter  T.,  winking 
on  the  side  to  me  and  Jonadab. 

Milo  looked  scared.  "Goodness!  No,"  says 
he.  "And  don't  you  tell  him  neither.  His  wife's 
davenport  hunting  too." 

"You  say  you've  got  the  refusal  of  it  ?"  says  I. 


THE  ANTIQUERS  217 

"Well,  I  know  Adoniram  Rogers,  and  if  7  was 
dickering  with  him  I'd  buy  the  thing  first  and  get 
the  refusal  of  it  afterwards.  You  hear  me?" 

"Is  that  so  ?  "  repeats  Milo.  "Slippery,  is  he  ? 
I'll  take  my  wife  up  there  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

He  walked  off  looking  worried,  and  his  tops'ls 
hadn't  much  more'n  sunk  in  the  offing  afore  who 
should  walk  out  of  the  billiard  room  behind  us 
but  Eddie  Small. 

"Brown,"  says  he  to  Peter  T.,  "I  want  you 
to  have  a  horse  and  buggy  harnessed  up  for  me 
right  off.  Mrs.  Small  and  I  are  going  for  a  little 
drive  to — to — over  to  Orham,"  he  says. 

'Twas  a  mean,  black  night  for  a  drive  as  fur  as 
Orham  and  Peter  looked  surprised.  He  started 
to  say  something,  then  swallered  it  down,  and  told 
Eddie  he'd  see  to  the  harnessing.  When  Small 
was  out  of  sight,  I  says: 

"You  don't  cal'late  he  heard  what  Milo  was 
telling,  do  you,  Peter?"  says  I. 

Peter  T.  shook  his  head  and  winked,  first  at 
Jonadab  and  then  at  me. 

And  the  next  day  there  was  the  dickens  to  pay 
because  Eddie  and  the  Duchess  had  driven  up  to 
Rogers'  the  night  afore  and  had  bought  the 
davenport,  refusal  and  all,  for  twenty  dollars 
more'n  Milo  oifered  for  it. 


2i8        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Adoniram  brought  it  down  that  forenoon  and 
all  hands  and  the  cook  was  on  the  hurricane  deck 
to  man  the  yards.  'Twas  a  wonder  them  boarders 
didn't  turn  out  the  band  and  fire  salutes.  Such 
ohs  and  ahs!  'Twan't  nothing  but  a  ratty  old 
cripple  of  a  sofy,  with  one  leg  carried  away  and 
most  of  the  canvas  in  ribbons,  but  four  men 
lugged  it  up  the  steps  and  the  careful  way  they 
handled  it  made  you  think  the  Old  Home  House 
was  a  receiving  tomb  and  they  was  laying  in  the 
dear  departed. 

'Twas  set  down  on  the  piazza  and  then  the 
friends  had  a  chance  to  view  the  remains.  The 
Duchess  and  "Irene  dear"  gurgled  and  gushed 
and  received  congratulations.  Eddie  stood 
around  and  tried  to  look  modest  as  was  possible 
under  the  circumstances.  The  Dowager  sailed 
over,  tilted  her  nose  up  to  the  foretop,  remarked 
"Humph1"  through  it  and  come  about  and  stood 
at  the  other  end  of  the  porch.  "My  daughter" 
follers  in  her  wake,  observes  "Humph!"  likewise 
and  makes  for  blue  water.  Milo  comes  over  and 
looks  at  Eddie. 

"Well  ?  "  says  Small.  "What  do  you  think  of 
it  ?  " 

"Never  mind  what  I  think  of  //,"  answers 
Thompson,  through  his  teeth.  "Shall  I  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  you?  " 


THE  ANTIQUERS 


219 


I  thought  for  a  minute  that  hostilities  was  going 
to  begin,  but  they  didn't.  The  women  was  the 
real  battleships  in  that  fleet,  the  men  wa'n't  nothing 
but  transports.  Milo  and  Eddie  just  glared  at 
each  other  and  sheered  off,  and  the  "ginuwine 


FRIENDS  HAD  A  CHANCE  TO  VIEW  THE  REMAINS. 

Sheriton"  was  lugged  into  the  sepulchre,  meaning 
the  trunk-room  aloft  in  the  hotel. 

And  after  that  the  cold  around  the  thrones  was 
so  fierce  we  had  to  move  the  thermometer,  and 
we  had  to  give  the  families  separate  tables  in  the 


220        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE'1 

dining-room  so's  the  milk  would'nt  freeze.  You 
see  the  pitcher  set  right  between  'em,  and — •  Oh? 
I  didn't  expect  you'd  believe  it. 

The  "antiquing"  went  on  harder  than  ever. 
Every  time  the  Thompsons  landed  a  relic,  they'd 
bring  it  out  on  the  veranda  or  in  to  dinner  and 
gloat  over  it  loud  and  pointed,  while  the  Smalls 
would  pipe  all  hands  to  unload  sarcasm.  And 
the  same  vicy  vercy  when  'twas  t'other  way  about. 
'Twas  interesting  and  instructive  to  listen  to  and 
amused  the  populace  on  rainy  days,  so  Peter  T. 
said. 

Adoniram  Rogers  had  been  mighty  scurce 
'round  the  Old  Home  sense  the  davenport  deal. 
But  one  morning  he  showed  up  unexpected.  A 
boarder  had  dug  up  an  antique  somewheres  in  the 
shape  of  a  derelict  plate,  and  was  displaying  it 
proud  on  the  piazza.  The  Thompsons  was  there 
and  the  Smalls  and  a  whole  lot  more.  All  of  a 
sudden  Rogers  walks  up  the  steps  and  reaches 
over  and  makes  fast  to  the  plate. 

"Look  out!"  hollers  the  prize-winner,  frantic. 
"You'll  drop  it!" 

Adoniram  grunted.  "Huh!"  says  he.  '  'Tain't 
nothing  but  a  blue  dish.  I've  got  a  whole  closet 
full  of  them." 

"What?"  yells  everybody.  And  then:  "WiU 
you  sell  'em  ?  " 


THE  ANTIQUERS  221 

"Sell  'em?  "  says  Rogers,  looking  round  sur 
prised.  "Why,  I  never  see  nothing  I  wouldn't 
sell  if  I  got  money  enough  for  it." 

Then  for  the  next  few  minutes  there  was  what 
old  Parson  Danvers  used  to  call  a  study  in  human 
nature.  All  hands  started  for  that  poor,  helpless 
plate  owner  as  if  they  was  going  to  swoop  down 
on  him  like  a  passel  of  gulls  on  a  dead  horse- 
mack'rel.  Then  they  come  to  themselves  and 
stopped  and  looked  at  each  other,  kind  of  shame 
faced  but  suspicious.  The  Duchess  and  her 
crowd  glared  at  the  Dowager  tribe  and  got  the 
glares  back  with  compound  interest.  Everybody 
wanted  to  get  Adoniram  one  side  and  talk  with 
him,  and  everybody  else  was  determined  they 
shouldn't.  Wherever  he  moved  the  "Antiquers" 
moved  with  him.  Milo  watched  from  the  side 
lines.  Rogers  got  scared. 

"Look  here,"  says  he,  staring  sort  of  wild-like 
at  the  boarders.  "What  ails  you  folks  ?  Are 
you  crazy  ?  " 

Well,  he  might  have  made  a  good  deal  worse 
guess  than  that.  I  don't  know  how  'twould  have 
ended  if  Peter  T.  Brown,  cool  and  sassy  as  ever, 
hadn't  come  on  deck  just  then  and  took  command. 

"See  here,  Rogers,"  he  says,  "let's  understand 
this  thing.  Have  you  got  a  set  of  dishes  like 
that?" 


222        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Adoniram  looked  at  him.  "Will  I  get  jailed 
if  I  say  yes?"  he  answers. 

"Maybe  you  will  if  you  don't,"  says  Peter. 
"Now,  then,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  some 
thing  we're  all  interested  in,  and  I  think  everybody 
ought  to  have  a  fair  show.  I  jedge  from  the  de 
fendant's  testimony  that  he  has  got  a  set  of  the 
dishes,  and  I  also  jedge,  from  my  experience  and 
three  years'  dealings  with  him,  that  he's  too  public- 
spirited  to  keep  'em,  provided  he's  paid  four 
times  what  they're  worth.  Now  my  idea  is  this: 
Rogers  will  bring  those  dishes  down  here  to- 
morrer  and  we'll  put  'em  on  exhibition  in  the 
hotel  parlor.  Next  day  we'll  have  an  auction 
and  sell  'em  to  the  highest  cash  bidder.  And, 
provided  there's  no  objection,  I'll  sacrifice  my 
reputation  and  be  auctioneer." 

So  'twas  agreed  to  have  the  auction. 

Next  day  Adoniram  heaves  alongside  with  the 
dishes  in  a  truck  wagon,  and  they  was  strung  out 
on  the  tables  in  the  parlor.  And  such  a  pawing 
over  and  gabbling  you  never  heard.  I'd  been  su- 
picious,  myself,  knowing  Rogers,  but  there  was 
the  set  from  platters  to  sassers,  and  blue  enough 
and  ugly  enough  to  be  as  antique  as  Mrs.  Methu- 
salem's  jet  earrings.  The  "Antiquers"  handled 
'em  and  admired  'em  and  p'inted  to  the  three  holes 
in  the  back  of  each  dish — the  same  being  proof 


THE  ANTIQUERS  223 

of  age — and  got  more  covetous  every  minute.  But 
the  joy  was  limited.  As  one  feller  said,  "I'd  like 
'em  mighty  well,  but  what  chance'll  we  have  bid 
ding  against  green-back  syndicates  like  that  ?  " 
referring  to  the  Dowager  and  the  Duchess. 

Milo  and  Eddie  was  the  most  worried  of  all, 
because  each  of  'em  had  been  commissioned  by 
their  commanding  officers  not  to  let  t'other  family 
win. 

That  auction  was  the  biggest  thing  that  ever 
happened  at  the  Old  Home.  We  had  it  on  the 
lawn  out  back  of  the  billiard  room  and  folks  came 
from  Harniss  and  Orham  and  the  land  knows 
where.  The  sheds  and  barn  was  filled  with  car 
riages  and  we  served  thirty-two  extra  dinners  at 
a  dollar  a  feed.  The  dishes  was  piled  on  a  table 
and  Peter  T.  done  his  auctioneer  preaching  from 
a  kind  of  pulpit  made  out  of  two  cracker  boxes 
and  a  tea  chest. 

But  there  wa'n't  any  real  bidding  except  from 
the  Smalls  and  Thompsons.  A  few  of  the  board 
ers  and  some  of  the  out-of-towners  took  a  shy 
long  at  first,  but  their  bids  was  only  ground  bait. 
Milo  and  Eddie,  backed  by  the  Dowager  and  the 
Duchess,  done  the  real  fishing. 

The  price  went  up  and  up.  Peter  T.  whooped 
and  pounded  and  all  but  shed  tears.  If  he'd  been 
burying  a  competition  hotel  keeper  he  couldn't 


224       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

have  hove  more  soul  into  his  work.  *Twas, 
"Fifty!  Do  I  hear  sixty  ?  Sixty  do  I  hear  ?  Fifty 
dollars!  Think  of  it  ?  Why,  friends,  this  ain't 
a  church  pound  party.  Look  at  them  dishes! 
Look  at  'em!  Why,  the  pin  feathers  on  those 
blue  dicky  birds  in  the  corners  are  worth  more'n 
that  for  mattress  stuffing.  Do  I  hear  sixty  ? 
Sixty  I'm  bid.  Who  says  seventy  ?  " 

Milo  said  it,  and  Eddie  was  back  at  him  afore 
he  could  shake  the  reefs  out  of  the  last  syllable. 
She  went  up  to  a  hundred,  then  to  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five,  and  with  every  raise  Adoniram 
Roger's  smile  lengthened  out.  After  the  one- 
twenty-five  mark  the  tide  rose  slower.  Milo'd 
raise  it  a  dollar  and  Eddie'd  jump  him  fifty 
cents. 

And  just  then  two  things  happened.  One 
was  that  a  servant  girl  come  running  from  the 
Old  Home  House  to  tell  the  Duchess  and  "Irene 
dear"  that  some  swell  friends  of  theirs  from  the 
hotel  at  Harniss  had  driven  over  to  call  and  was 
waiting  for  'em  in  the  parlor.  The  female  Smalls 
went  in,  though  they  wa'n't  joyful  over  it.  They 
give  Eddie  his  sailing  orders  afore  they  went,  too. 

The  other  thing  that  happened  was  Bill  Salt- 
marsh's  arriving  in  port.  Bill  is  an  "antiquer" 
for  revenue  only.  He  runs  an  antique  store 
over  at  Ostable  and  the  prices  he  charges  are 


THE  ANTIQUERS  225 

enough  to  convict  him  without  hearing  the  evi 
dence.  I  knew  he'd  come. 

Saltmarsh  busts  through  the  crowd  and  makes 
for  the  pulpit.  He  nods  to  Peter  T.  and  picks 
up  one  of  the  plates.  He  looks  at  it  first  ruther 
casual;  then  more  and  more  careful,  turning 
it  over  and  taking  up  another. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  Brown,"  says  he.  "Are 
these  the  dishes  you're  selling  ?  " 

"Sure  thing,"  comes  back  Peter.  "Think 
we're  serving  free  lunch?  No,  sir!  Those  are 
the  genuine  articles,  Mr.  Saltmarsh,  and  you're 
cheating  the  widders  and  orphans  if  you  don't 
put  in  a  bid  quick.  One  thirty-two  fifty,  I'm  bid. 
Now,  Saltmarsh!" 

But  Bill  only  laughed.  Then  he  picks  up 
another  plate,  looks  at  it,  and  laughs  again. 

"Good  day,  Brown,"  says  he.  "Sorry  I  can't 
stop."  And  off  he  puts  towards  his  horse  and 
buggy. 

Eddie  Small  was  watching  him.  Milo,  being 
on  the  other  side  of  the  pulpit,  hadn't  noticed 
so  partic'lar. 

"Who's  that  ?  "  asks  Eddie,  suspicious.  "Does 
he  know  antiques  ?  " 

I  remarked  that  if  Bill  didn't,  then  nobody  did. 

"Look  here,  Saltmarsh!"  says  Small,  catching 
Bill  by  the  arm  as  he  shoved  through  the  crowd. 


226      THE  "OLD  HOME  BOUSE" 

-What's  the  matter  with  those  dishes — any 
thing?  " 

Bill  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "Why,  no,'* 
he  says,  slow.  "They're  all  right — of  their  kind." 
And  off  he  put  again. 

But  Eddie  wa'n't  satisfied.  He  turns  to  me. 
"By  George!"  he  says.  "What  is  it?  Does 
he  think  they're  fakes  ?  ' 

I  didn't  know,  so  I  shook  my  head.  Small 
fidgetted,  looked  at  Peter,  and  then  run  after 
Saltmarsh.  Milo  had  just  raised  the  bid. 

"One  hundred  and  thirty-three"  hollers  Peter, 
fetching  the  tea  chest  a  belt.  "One  thirty-four 
do  I  hear  ?  Make  it  one  thirty-three  fifty.  Fifty 
cents  do  I  hear  ?  Come,  come!  this  is  highway  rob 
bery,  gentlemen.  Mr.  Small — where  are  you  ?" 

But  Eddie  was  talking  to  Saltmarsh.  In  a 
minute  back  he  comes,  looking  more  worried 
than  ever.  Peter  T.  bawled  and  pounded  and 
beckoned  at  him  with  the  mallet,  but  he  only 
fidgetted — didn't  know  what  to  do. 

"One  thirty-three!"  bellers  Peter.  "One 
thirty-three!  Oh,  how  can  I  look  my  grand 
mother's  picture  in  the  face  after  this  ?  One 
thirty-three  —  once !  One  thirty-three  —  twice! 
Third  and  last  call!  One — thirty- 
Then  Eddie  begun  to  raise  his  hand,  but*  twas 
too  late. 


THE  ANTIQUERS  227 

"One  thirty-three  and  SOLD!  To  Mr.  Milo 
Thompson  for  one  hundred  and  thirty-three 
dollars!" 

And  just  then  come  a  shriek  from  the  piazza; 
the  Duchess  and  "Irene  dear"  had  come  out 
of  the  parlor. 

Well!  Talk  about  crowing!  The  way  that 
Thompson  crowd  rubbed  it  in  on  the  Smalls  was 
enough  to  make  you  leave  the  dinner  table.  They 
had  the  servants  take  in  them  dishes,  piece  by 
piece,  and  every  single  article,  down  to  the  last 
butter  plate,  was  steered  straight  by  the  Small 
crowd. 

As  for  poor  Eddie,  when  he  come  up  to  ex 
plain  why  he  hadn't  kept  on  bidding,  his  wife 
put  him  out  like  he  was  a  tin  lamp. 

"Don't  speak  to  me!"  says  she.  "Don't  you 
dare  speak  to  me." 

He  didn't  dare.  He  just  run  up  a  storm  sail 
and  beat  for  harbor  back  of  the  barn.  And 
from  the  piazza  Milo  cackled  vainglorious. 

Me  and  Cap'n  Jonadab  and  Peter  T.  felt 
so  sorry  for  Eddie,  knowing  what  he  had  coming 
to  him  from  the  Duchess,  that  we  went  out  to 
see  him.  He  was  setting  on  a  wrecked  hencoop* 
looking  heart-broke  but  puzzled. 

"Twas  that  Saltmarsh  made  me  lose  my  nerve," 
he  says.  "I  thought  when  he  wouldn't  bid  there 


228       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

was  something  wrong  with  the  dishes.  And 
there  was  something  wrong,  too.  Now  what 
was  it  ?  " 

"  Maybe  the  price  was  too  high,"  says  I. 

"No,  'twa'n't  that.  I  b'lieve  yet  he  thought 
they  were  imitations.  Oh,  if  they  only  were!" 

And  then,  lo  and  behold  you,  around  the  corner 
comes  Adoniram  Rogers.  I'd  have  bet  large 
that  whatever  conscience  Adoniram  was  born 
with  had  dried  up  and  blown  away  years  ago. 
But  no;  he'd  resurrected  a  remnant. 

"Mr.  Small,"  stammered  Mr.  Rogers,  "I'm 
sorry  you  feel  bad  about  not  buying  them  dishes. 
I — I  thought  I'd  ought  to  tell  you — that  is  to 
say,  I —  Well,  if  you  want  another  set,  I  cal'late 
I  can  get  it  for  you — that  is,  if  you  won't  tell 
nobody." 

"Another  set?"  hollers  Eddie,  wide-eyed. 
"Anoth —  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  got 
more?  ' 

"Why,  I  ain't  exactly  got  'em  now,  but  my 
nephew  John  keeps  a  furniture  store  in  South 
Boston,  and  he  has  lots  of  sets  like  that.  I  bought 
that  one  off  him." 

Peter  T.  Brown  jumps  to  his  feet. 

"Why,  you  outrageous  robber!"  he  hollers. 
"Didn't  you  say  those  dishes  were  old  ?  ' 

"I  never  said  nothing,  except  that  they  were 


THE  ANTIQUERS  229 

like  the  plate  that  feller  had  on  the  piazza.  And 
they  was,  too.  Ton  folks  said  they  was  old,  and 
I  thought  you'd  ought  to  know,  so — " 

Eddie  Small  threw  up  both  hands.  "Fakes!" 
he  hollers.  "Fakes!  And  Thompson  paid  one 
hundred  and  thirty-three  dollars  for  'em!  Boys, 
there's  times  when  life's  worth  living.  Have  a 
drink." 

We  went  into  the  billard-room  and  took  some 
thing;  that  is,  Peter  and  Eddie  took  that  kind 
of  something.  Me  and  Jonadab  took  cigars. 

"Fellers,"  said  Eddie,  "drink  hearty.  I'm 
going  in  to  tell  my  wife.  Fake  dishes!  And  I 
beat  Thompson  on  the  davenport." 

He  went  away  bubbling  like  a  biling  spring. 
After  he  was  gone  Rogers  looked  thoughtful. 

"That's  funny,  too,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  says. 

"What's  funny  ?  "  we  asked. 

"Why,  about  that  sofy  he  calls  a  davenport. 
You  see,  I  bought  that  off  John,  too,"  says  Ado- 
niram. 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH 

I  never  could  quite  understand  why  the  folks 
at  Wellmouth  made  me  selectman.  I  s'pose 
likely  'twas  on  account  of  Jonadab  and  me  and 
Peter  Brown  making  such  a  go  of  the  Old  Home 
House  and  turning  Wellmouth  Port  from  a  sand 
fleas'  paradise  into  a  hospital  where  city  folks 
could  have  their  bank  accounts  amputated  and 
not  suffer  more'n  was  necessary.  Anyway,  I 
was  elected  unanimous  at  town  meeting,  and 
Peter  was  mighty  anxious  for  me  to  take  the  job. 

"Barzilla,"  says  Peter,  "I  jedge  that  a  select 
man  is  a  sort  of  dwarf  alderman.  Now,  I've 
had  friends  who've  been  aldermen,  and  they  say 
it's  a  sure  thing,  like  shaking  with  your  own  dice. 
If  you're  straight,  there's  the  honor  and  the 
advertisement;  if  you're  crooked,  there's  the 
graft.  Either  way  the  house  wins.  Go  in,  and 
glory  be  with  you." 

So  I  finally  agreed  to  serve,  and  the  very  first 
Meeting  I  went  to,  the  question  of  Asaph  Blue* 

233 


234        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

worthy  and  the  poorhouse  comes  up.  Zoeth 
Tiddit — he  was  town  clerk — he  puts  it  this 
way: 

"Gentlemen,"  he  says,  "we  have  here  the 
usual  application  from  Asaph  Blueworthy  for 
aid  from  the  town.  I  don't  know's  there's  much 
use  for  me  to  read  it — it's  tolerable  familiar. 
'Suffering  from  lumbago  and  rheumatiz' — um, 
yes.  'Out  of  work' — um,  just  so.  'Respect 
fully  begs  that  the  board  will' — etcetery  and  so 
forth.  Well,  gentlemen,  what's  your  pleasure  ?  M 

Darius  Gott,  he  speaks  first,  and  dry  and 
drawling  as  ever.  "  Out  of  work,  hey  ?  "  says 
Darius.  "Mr.  Chairman,  I  should  like  to  ask 
if  anybody  here  remembers  the  time  when  Ase 
was  in  work  ?  " 

Nobody  did,  and  Cap'n  Benijah  Poundberry 
— he  was  chairman  at  that  time — he  fetches  the 
table  a  welt  with  his  starboard  fist  and  comes 
out  emphatic. 

"Feller  members,"  says  he,  "I  don't  know 
how  the  rest  of  you  feel,  but  it's  my  opinion  that 
this  board  has  done  too  much  for  that  lazy  loafer 
already.  Long's  his  sister,  Thankful,  lived,  we 
couldn't  say  nothing,  of  course.  If  she  wanted 
to  slave  and  work  so's  her  brother  could  live  in 
idleness  and  sloth,  why,  that  was  her  business. 
There  ain't  any  law  against  a  body's  making  a 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  235 

fool  of  herself,  more's  the  pity.  But  she's  been 
dead  a  year,  and  he's  done  nothing  since  but 
live  on  those  that'll  trust  him,  and  ask  help  from 
the  town.  He  ain't  sick — except  sick  of  work. 
Now,  it's  my  idea  that,  long's  he's  bound  to  be 
a  pauper,  he  might's  well  be  treated  as  a  pauper. 
Let's  send  him  to  the  poorhouse." 

"But,"  says  I,  "he  owns  his  place  down  there 
by  the  shore,  don't  he  ?  " 

All  hands  laughed — that  is,  all  but  Cap'n 
Benijah.  "Own  nothing,"  says  the  cap'n.  "The 
whole  rat  trap,  from  the  keel  to  maintruck,  ain't 
worth  more'n  three  hundred  dollars,  and  I  loaned 
Thankful  four  hundred  on  it  years  ago,  and  the 
mortgage  fell  due  last  September.  Not  a  cent 
of  principal,  interest,  nor  rent  have  I  got  since. 
Whether  he  goes  to  the  poorhouse  or  not,  he 
goes  out  of  that  house  of  mine  to-morrer.  A 
man  can  smite  me  on  one  cheek  and  maybe  I'll 
turn  t'other,  but  when,  after  I  have  turned  it, 
he  finds  fault  'cause  my  face  hurts  his  hand, 
then  I  rise  up  and  quit;  you  hear  me!" 

Nobody  could  help  hearing  him,  unless  they 
was  deefer  than  the  feller  that  fell  out  of  the  bal 
loon  and  couldn't  hear  himself  strike,  so  all 
hands  agreed  that  sending  Asaph  Blueworthy 
to  the  poorhouse  would  be  a  good  thing.  'Twould 
be  a  lesson  to  Ase,  and  would  give  the  poorhouse 


236       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

one  more  excuse  for  being  on  earth.  Wellmouth's 
a  fairly  prosperous  town,  and  the  paupers  had 
died,  one  after  the  other,  and  no  new  ones  had 
come,  until  all  there  was  left  in  the  poorhouse  was 
old  Betsy  Mullen,  who  was  down  with  creeping 
palsy,  and  Deborah  Badger,  who'd  been  keeper 
ever  since  her  husband  died. 

The  poorhouse  property  was  valuable,  too, 
'specially  for  a  summer  cottage,  being  out  on 
the  end  of  Robbin's  Point,  away  from  the  town, 
and  having  a  fine  view  right  across  the  bay. 
Zoeth  Tiddit  was  a  committee  of  one  with  power 
from  the  town  to  sell  the  place,  but  he  hadn't 
found  a  customer  yet.  And  if  he  did  sell  it, 
what  to  do  with  Debby  was  more  or  less  of  a 
question.  She'd  kept  poorhouse  for  years,  and 
had  no  other  home  nor  no  relations  to  go  to. 
Everybody  liked  her,  too — that  is,  everybody 
but  Cap'n  Benijah.  He  was  down  on  her  'cause 
she  was  a  Spiritualist  and  believed  in  fortune 
tellers  and  such.  The  cap'n,  bein*  a  deacon  of 
the  Come-Outer  persuasion,  was  naturally  down 
on  folks  who  wasn't  broad-minded  enough  to  see 
that  his  partic'lar  crack  in  the  roof  was  the  only 
way  to  crawl  through  to  glory. 

Well,  we  voted  to  send  Asaph  to  the  poor 
house,  and  then  I  was  appointed  a  delegate  to 
see  him  and  tell  him  he'd  got  to  go.  I  wasn't 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  237 

enthusiastic  over  the  job,  but  everybody  said  I 
was  exactly  the  feller  for  the  place. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  drawls  Darius,  "you, 
being  a  stranger,  are  the  only  one  that  Ase  couldn't 
talk  over.  He's  got  a  tongue  that's  buttered  on 
both  sides  and  runs  on  ball  bearings.  If  I  should 
see  him  he'd  work  on  my  sympathies  till  I'd 
lend  him  the  last  two-cent  piece  in  my  baby's 
bank." 

So,  as  there  wa'n't  no  way  out  of  it,  I  drove 
down  to  Asaph's  that  afternoon.  He  lived  off 
on  a  side  road  by  the  shore,  in  a  little,  run-down 
shanty  that  was  as  no  account  as  he  was.  When 
I  moored  my  horse  to  the  "heavenly-wood" 
tree  by  what  was  left  of  the  fence,  I  would  have  bet 
my  sou'wester  that  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Brother 
Blueworthy,  peeking  round  the  corner  of  the 
house.  But  when  I  turned  that  corner  there  was 
nobody  in  sight,  although  the  bu'sted  wash- 
bench,  with  a  cranberry  crate  propping  up  its 
lame  end,  was  shaking  a  little,  as  if  some  one 
had  set  on  it  recent. 

I  knocked  on  the  door,  but  nobody  answered. 
After  knocking  three  or  four  times,  I  tried  kick- 
ing,  and  the  second  kick  raised,  from  somewheres 
inside,  a  groan  that  was  as  lonesome  a  sound  as 
ever  I  heard.  No  human  noise  in  my  experience 
come  within  a  mile  of  it  for  dead,  downright 


238       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

misery — unless,  maybe,  it's  Cap'n  Jonadab  try 
ing  to  sing  in  meeting  Sundays. 

"Who's  that?"  wails  Ase  from  'tother  side 
of  the  door.  "Did  anybody  knock  ?  " 

"Knock!"  says  I.  "I  all  but  kicked  your 
everlasting  derelict  out  of  water.  It's  me,  Win- 
gate — one  of  the  selectmen.  Tumble  up,  there! 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Blueworthy  didn't  exactly  tumble,  so's  to  speak, 
but  the  door  opened,  and  he  comes  shuffling  and 
groaning  into  sight.  His  face  was  twisted  up 
and  he  had  one  hand  spread-fingered  on  the 
small  of  his  back. 

"Dear,  dear!"  says  he.  "I'm  dreadful  sorry 
to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Wingate.  I've 
been  wrastling  with  this  tumble  lumbago,  and 
I'm  'fraid  it's  affecting  my  hearing.  I'll  tell 
you " 

"Yes — well,  you  needn't  mind,"  I  says; 
"'cordin'  to  common  tell,  you  was  born  with  that 
same  kind  of  lumbago,  and  it's  been  getting  no 
better  fast  ever  since.  Jest  drag  your  suffer 
ings  out  onto  this  bench  and  come  to  anchor. 
I've  got  considerable  to  say,  and  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 

Well,  he  grunted,  and  groaned,  and  scuffled 
along.  When  he'd  got  planted  on  the  bench 
he  didn't  let  up  any — kept  on  with  the  misery. 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  239 

"Look  here,"  says  I,  losing  patience,  "when 
you  get  through  with  the  Job  business  I'll  heave 
ahead  and  talk.  Don't  let  me  interrupt  the 
lamentations  on  no  account.  Finished  ?  All 
right.  Now,  you  listen  to  me." 

And  then  I  told  him  just  how  matters  stood. 
His  house  was  to  be  seized  on  the  mortgage,  and 
he  was  to  move  to  the  poorhouse  next  day.  You 
never  see  a  man  more  surprised  or  worse  cut 
up.  Him  to  the  poorhouse  ?  Him — one  of  the 
oldest  families  on  the  Cape  ?  You'd  think  he 
was  the  Grand  Panjandrum.  Well,  the  dignity 
didn't  work,  so  he  commenced  on  the  lumbago; 
and  that  didn't  work,  neither.  But  do  you  think 
he  give  up  the  ship?  Not  much;  he  com 
menced  to  explain  why  he  hadn't  been  able  to 
earn  a  living  and  the  reasons  why  he'd  ought  to 
have  another  chance.  Talk!  Well,  if  I  hadn't 
been  warned  he'd  have  landed  me,  all  right.  1 
never  heard  a  better  sermon  nor  one  with  more 
long  words  in  it. 

I  actually  pitied  him.  It  seemed  a  shame 
that  a  feller  who  could  argue  like  that  should 
have  to  go  to  the  poorhouse;  he'd  ought  to  run 
a  summer  hotel — when  the  boarders  kicked 
'cause  there  was  yeller-eyed  beans  in  the  coffee 
he  would  be  the  one  to  explain  that  they  was 
lucky  to  get  beans  like  that  without  paying  extra 


240       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

for  'em.  Thinks  I,  "I'm  an  idiot,  but  I'll  make 
him  one  more  offer." 

So  I  says*.  "See  here,  Mr.  Blueworthy,  I 
could  use  another  man  in  the  stable  at  the  Old 
Home  House.  If  you  want  the  job  you  can 
have  it.  Only,  you'll  have  to  work,  and  work 
hard." 

Well,  sir,  would  you  believe  it  ? — his  face  fell 
like  a  cook-book  cake.  That  kind  of  chance 
wa'n't  what  he  was  looking  for.  He  shuffled  and 
hitched  around,  and  finally  he  says:  "I'll — I'll 
consider  your  offer,"  he  says. 

That  was  too  many  for  me.  "Well,  I'll  be 
yardarmed!"  says  I,  and  went  off  and  left  him 
"considering."  I  don't  know  what  his  considera 
tions  amounted  to.  All  I  know  is  that  next  day 
they  took  him  to  the  poorhouse. 

And  from  now  on  this  yarn  has  got  to  be  more 
or  less  hearsay.  I'll  have  to  put  this  and  that 
together,  like  the  woman  that  made  the  mince 
meat.  Some  of  the  facts  I  got  from  a  cousin  of 
Deborah  Badger's,  some  of  them  I  wormed  out 
of  Asaph  himself  one  time  when  he'd  had  a  jug 
come  down  from  the  city  and  was  feeling  toler'ble 
philanthropic  and  conversationy.  But  I  guess 
they're  straight  enough. 

Seems  that,  while  I  was  down  notifying  Blue- 
worthy,  Cap'n  Poundberry  had  gone  over  to  the 


HIS  NATIFE  HEATH  241 

poorhouse  to  tell  the  Widow  Badger  about  her 
new  boarder.  The  widow  was  glad  to  hear  the 
news. 

"He'll  be  somebody  to  talk  to,  at  any  rate," 
says  she.  "Poor  old  Betsy  Mullen  ain't  exactly 
what  you'd  call  company  for  a  sociable  body. 
But  I'll  mind  what  you  say,  Cap'n  Benijah.  It 
takes  more  than  a  slick  tongue  to  come  it  over 
me.  I'll  make  that  lazy  man  work  or  know  the 
reason  why." 

So  when  Asaph  arrived — per  truck  wagon — 
at  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon,  Mrs.  Bad 
ger  was  ready  for  him.  She  didn't  wait  to  shake 
hands  or  say:  "Glad  to  see  you."  No,  sirl 
The  minute  he  landed  she  sent  him  out  by  the 
barn  with  orders  to  chop  a  couple  of  cords  of 
oak  slabs  that  was  piled  there.  He  groaned 
and  commenced  to  develop  lumbago  symptoms, 
but  she  cured  'em  in  a  hurry  by  remarking  that 
her  doctor's  book  said  vig'rous  exercise  was  the 
best  physic  for  that  kind  of  disease,  and  so  he 
must  chop  hard.  She  waited  till  she  heard  the 
ax  "chunk"  once  or  twice,  and  then  she  went 
into  the  house,  figgering  that  she'd  gained  the 
first  lap,  anyhow. 

But  in  an  hour  or  so  it  come  over  her  all  of  a 
sudden  that  'twas  awful  quiet  out  by  the  wood 
pile.  She  hurried  to  the  back  door,  and  there 


242       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

was  Ase,  setting  on  the  ground  in  the  shade,  his 
eyes  shut  and  his  back  against  the  chopping 
block,  and  one  poor  lonesome  slab  in  front  of 
him  with  a  couple  of  splinters  knocked  off  it. 
That  was  his  afternoon's  work. 

Maybe  you  think  the  widow  wa'n't  mad.  She 
tip-toed  out  to  the  wood-pile,  grabbed  her  new 
boarder  by  the  coat  collar  and  shook  him  till  his 
head  played  "Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home" 
against  the  chopping  block. 

"You  lazy  thing,  you!"  says  she,  with  her 
eyes  snapping.  "Wake  up  and  tell  me  what 
you  mean  by  sleeping  when  I  told  you  to  work."  • 

"Sleep?"  stutters  Asaph,  kind  of  reaching 
out  with  his  mind  for  a  life-preserver.  "I — I 
wa'n't  asleep." 

Well,  I  don't  think  he  had  really  meant  to  sleep. 
I  guess  he  just  set  down  to  think  of  a  good  brand 
new  excuse  for  not  working,  and  kind  of  drowsed 
off. 

"You  wa'n't  hey?'"  says  Deborah,  "Then 
'twas  the  best  imitation  ever  /  see.  What  was 
you  doing,  if  'tain't  too  personal  a  question  ?  ' 

"I — I  guess  I  must  have  fainted.  I'm  subject 
to  such  spells.  You  see,  ma'am,  I  ain't  been 
well  for " 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  understand  all  about  that. 
Now,  you  march  your  boots  into  that  house. 


HIS  NATIFE  HEATH 


where  I  can  keep  an  eye  on  you,  and  help  me  get 
supper.  To-morrer  morning  you'll  get  up  at 
five  o'clock  and  chop  wood  till  breakfast  time. 
If  I  think  you've  chopped  enough,  maybe  you'll 


THAT  WAS  His  AFTERNOON'S  WORK. 

get   the    breakfast.     If   I    don't    think    so   you'll 
keep  on  chopping.     Now,  march!" 

Blueworthy,  he  marched,  but  'twa'n't  as  joy 
ful  a  parade  as  an  Odd  Fellers'  picnic.  He  could 
see  he'd  made  a  miscue — a  clean  miss,  and  the 
white  ball  in  the  pocket.  He  knew,  too,  that  a 


244       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

lot  depended  on  his  making  a  good  impression 
the  first  thing,  and  instead  of  that  he'd  gone  and 
"foozled  his  approach,"  as  that  city  feller  said 
last  summer  when  he  ran  the  catboat  plump 
into  the  end  of  the  pier.  Deborah,  she  went 
out  into  the  kitchen,  but  she  ordered  Ase  to  stay 
in  the  dining  room  and  set  the  table;  told  him 
to  get  the  dishes  out  of  the  closet. 

All  the  time  he  was  doing  it  he  kept  thinking 
about  the  mistake  he'd  made,  and  wondering  if 
there  wa'n't  some  way  to  square  up  and  get 
solid  with  the  widow.  Asaph  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  philosopher,  and  his  motto  was — so  he  told 
me  afterward,  that  time  I  spoke  of  when  he'd 
been  investigating  the  jug — his  motto  was :  "  Every 
hard  shell  has  a  soft  spot  somewheres,  and  after 
you  find  it,  it's  easy."  If  he  could  only  find  out 
something  that  Deborah  Badger  was  particular 
interested  in,  then  he  believed  he  could  make  a 
ten-strike.  And,  all  at  once,  down  in  the  cor 
ner  of  the  closet,  he  see  a  big  pile  of  papers  and 
magazines.  The  one  >in  vop  was  the  Banner 
of  Light,  and  underneath  that  was  the  Mys 
terious  Magazine. 

Then  he  remembered,  all  of  a  sudden,  the 
town  talk  about  Debby's  believing  in  mediums 
and  spooks  and  fortune  tellers  and  such.  And 
he  commenced  to  set  up  and  take  notice. 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  24$ 

At  the  supper  table  he  was  as  mum  as  a  run 
down  clock;  just  set  in  his  chair  and  looked  at 
Mrs.  Badger.  She  got  nervous  and  fidgety  after 
a  spell,  and  fin'lly  bu'sts  out  with:  "What  are 
you  staring  at  me  like  that  for  ?  " 

Ase  kind  of  jumped  and  looked  surprised. 
"Staring?  "  says  he.  "Was  I  staring?  " 

"I  should  think  you  was!  Is  my  hair  coming 
down,  or  what  is  it  ?  " 

He  didn't  answer  for  a  minute,  but  he  looked 
over  her  head  and  then  away  acrost  the  room, 
as  if  he  was  watching  something  that  moved. 
"Your  husband  was  a  short,  kind  of  fleshy  man, 
as  I  remember,  wa'n't  he  ?  "  says  he,  absent- 
minded  like. 

"Course  he  was.     But  what  in  the  world " 

"Twa'n't  him,  then.     I  thought  not." 

"Him?     My  husband  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

And  then  Asaph  begun  to  put  on  the  fine 
touches.  He  leaned  acrost  the  table  and  says 
he,  in  a  sort  of  mysterious  whisper:  "Mrs. 
B^d^er,"  says  he,  "do  you  ever  see  things  ?  Not 
common  things,  but  strange — shadders  like  ?  ' 

"Mercy  me!"  says  the  widow.  "No.  Do 
you?  " 

"Sometimes  seems's  if  I  did.  Jest  now,  as 
I  set  here  looking  at  you,  it  seemed  as  if  I  saw  a 
man  come  up  and  put  his  hand  on  your  shoulder." 


246       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Well,  you  can  imagine  Debby.  She  jumped 
out  of  her  chair  and  whirled  around  like  a  kitten 
in  a  fit.  "Good  land!"  she  hollers.  "Where? 
What  ?  Who  was  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  who  'twas.  His  face  was  cov 
ered  up;  but  it  kind  of  come  to  me — a  communi 
cation,  as  you  might  say — that  some  day  that 
man  was  going  to  marry  you." 

"Land  of  love!  Marry  me?  You're  crazy! 
I'm  scart  to  death." 

Ase  shook  his  head,  more  mysterious  than  ever. 
"I  don't  know,"  says  he.  "Maybe  I  am  crazy. 
But  I  see  that  same  man  this  afternoon,  when  I 
was  in  that  trance,  and " 

"Trance!  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  was 
in  a  trance  out  there  by  the  wood-pile  f  Are  you 
a  medium?  ' 

Well,  Ase,  he  wouldn't  admit  that  he  was  a 
medium  exactly,  but  he  give  her  to  understand 
that  there  wa'n't  many  mediums  in  this  coun 
try  that  could  do  business  'longside  of  him  when 
he  was  really  working.  'Course  he  made  believe 
he  didn't  want  to  talk  about  such  things,  and, 
likewise  of  course,  that  made  Debby  all  the  more 
anxious  to  talk  about  'em.  She  found  out  that 
her  new  boarder  was  subject  to  trances  and  had 
second-sight  and  could  draw  horoscopes,  and  I 
don't  know  what  all.  Particular  she  wanted  to 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  24; 

know  more  about  that  "man"  that  was  going 
to  marry  her,  but  Asaph  wouldn't  say  much  about 
him. 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  says  Ase,  "that  he  didn't 
appear  to  me  like  a  common  man.  He  was  sort 
of  familiar  looking,  and  yet  there  was  something 
distinguished  about  him,  something  uncommon, 
as  you  might  say.  But  this  much  comes  to  me 
strong:  He's  a  man  any  woman  would  be  proud 
to  get,  arid  some  time  he's  coming  to  offer  you  a 
good  home.  You  won't  have  to  keep  poorhouse 
all  your  days." 

So  the  widow  went  up  to  her  room  with  what 
you  might  call  a  case  of  delightful  horrors.  She 
was  too  scart  to  sleep  and  frightened  to  stay  awake. 
She  kept  two  lamps  burning  all  night. 

As  for  Asaph,  he  waited  till  'twas  still,  and  then 
he  crept  downstairs  to  the  closet,  got  an  armful 
of  Banners  of  Light  and  Mysterious  Magazines, 
and  went  back  to  his  room  to  study  up.  Next 
morning  there  was  nothing  said  about  wood  chop 
ping — Ase  was  busy  making  preparations  to  draw 
Debby's  horoscope. 

You  can  see  how  things  went  after  that.  Blue- 
worthy  was  star  boarder  at  that  poorhouse.  Mrs. 
Badger  was  too  much  interested  in  spooks  and 
fortunes  to  think  of  asking  him  to  work,  and  if 
she  did  hint  at  such  a  thing,  he'd  have  another 


248        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"trance"  and  see  that  "man,"  and  'twas  all  off. 
And  we  poor  fools  of  selectmen  was  congratulat 
ing  ourselves  that  Ase  Blueworthy  was  doing 
something  toward  earning  his  keep  at  last.  And 
then — 'long  in  July  'twas — Betsy  Mullen  died. 

One  evening,  just  after  the  Fourth,  Deborah 
and  Asaph  was  in  the  dining  room,  figgering 
out  fortunes  with  a  pack  of  cards,  when  there 
comes  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  widow  answered 
it,  and  there  was  an  old  chap,  dressed  in  a  blue 
suit,  and  a  stunning  pretty  girl  in  what  these 
summer  women  make  believe  is  a  sea-going  rig. 
And  both  of  'em  was  sopping  wet  through,  and 
as  miserable  as  two  hens  in  a  rain  barrel. 

It  turned  out  that  the  man's  name  was  La- 
mont,  with  a  colonel's  pennant  and  a  million- 
dollar  mark  on  the  foretop  of  it,  and  the  girl  was 
his  daughter  Mabel.  They'd  been  paying  six 
dollars  a  day  each  for  sea  air  and  clam  soup  over 
to  the  Wattagonsett  House,  in  Harniss,  and 
either  the  soup  or  the  air  had  affected  the  coU 
onel's  head  till  he  imagined  he  could  sail  a  boat 
all  by  his  ownty-donty.  Well,  he'd  sailed  one 
acrost  the  bay  and  got  becalmed,  and  then  the 
tide  took  him  in  amongst  the  shoals  at  the  mouth 
of  Wellmouth  Crick,  and  there,  owing  to  a  mix- 
up  of  tide,  shoals,  dark,  and  an  overdose  of  fool 
ishness,  the  boat  had  upset  and  foundered  and 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  249 

the  Laments  had  waded  half  a  mile  or  so  to  shore. 
Once  on  dry  land,  they'd  headed  up  the  bluff 
for  the  only  port  in  sight,  which  was  the  poor- 
house — although  they  didn't  know  it. 

The  widow  and  Asaph  made  'em  as  com 
fortable  as  they  could;  rigged  'em  up  in  dry 
clothes  which  had  belonged  to  departed  paupers, 
and  got  'em  something  to  eat.  The  Laments 
was  what  they  called  "enchanted"  with  the 
whole  establishment. 

"This,"  says  the  colonel,  with  his  mouth  full 
of  brown  bread,  "is  delightful,  really  delightful. 
The  New  England  hospitality  that  we  read  about. 
So  free  from  ostentation  and  conventionality." 

When  you  stop  to  think  of  it,  you'd  scurcely 
expect  to  run  acrost  much  ostentation  at  the  poor- 
house,  but,  of  course,  the  colonel  didn't  know, 
and  he  praised  everything  so  like  Sam  Hill,  that 
the  widow  was  ashamed  to  break  the  news  to 
him.  And  Ase  kept  quiet,  too,  you  can  be  sure 
of  that.  As  for  Mabel,  she  was  one  of  them  gushy, 
goo-gooey  kind  of  girls,  and  she  was  as  struck 
with  the  shebang  as  her  dad.  She  said  the  house 
itself  was  a  "perfect  dear." 

And  after  supper  they  paired  off  and  got  to 
talking,  the  colonel  with  Mrs.  Badger,  and 
Asaph  with  Mabel.  Now,  I  can  just  imagine 
how  Ase  talked  to  that  poor,  unsuspecting  young 


250       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

female.  He  sartin  did  love  an  audience,  and 
here  was  one  that  didn't  know  him  nor  his  his 
tory,  nor  nothing.  He  played  the  sad  and  mys 
terious.  You  could  see  that  he  was  a  blighted 
bud,  all  right.  He  was  a  man  with  a  hidden 
sorrer,  and  the  way  he'd  sigh  and  change  the  sub 
ject  when  it  come  to  embarrassing  questions  was 
enough  to  bring  tears  to  a  graven  image,  let  alone 
a  romantic  girl  just  out  of  boarding  school. 

Then,  after  a  spell  of  this,  Mabel  wanted  to  be 
shown  the  house,  so  as  to  see  the  "sweet,  old- 
fashioned  rooms."  And  she  wanted  papa  to  see 
'em,  too,  so  Ase  led  the  way,  like  the  talking  man 
in  the  dime  museum.  And  the  way  them  La- 
monts  agonized  over  every  rag  mat,  and  corded 
bedstead  was  something  past  belief.  When  they 
was  saying  good-night — they  had  to  stay  all  night 
because  their  own  clothes  wa'n't  dry  and  those 
they  had  on  were  more  picturesque  than  stylish — 
Mabel  turns  to  her  father  and  says  she: 

"Papa,  dear,"  she  says,  "I  believe  that  at  last 
we've  found  the  very  thing  we've  been  looking  for." 

And  the  colonel  said  yes,  he  guessed  they  had. 

Next  morning  they  was  up  early  and  out  enjoy 
ing  the  view;  it  is  about  the  best  view  alongshore, 
and  they  had  a  fit  over  it.  When  breakfast  was 
done  the  Lamonts  takes  Asaph  one  side  and  the 
colonel  says' 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  251 

"Mr.  Blueworthy,"  he  says,  "my  daughter 
and  I  am  very  much  pleased  with  the  Cape  and 
the  Cape  people.  Some  time  ago  we  made  up 
our  minds  that  if  we  could  find  the  right  spot 
we  would  build  a  summer  home  here.  Pref 
erably  we  wish  to  purchase  a  typical,  old-time, 
Colonial  homestead  and  remodel  it,  retaining, 
of  course,  all  the  original  old-fashioned  flavor. 
Cost  is  not  so  much  the  consideration  as  location 
and  the  house  itself.  We  are — ahem! — well, 
frankly,  your  place  here  suits  us  exactly." 

"We  adore  it,"  says  Mabel,  emphatic. 

"Mr.  Blueworthy,"  goes  on  the  colonel,  "will 
you  sell  us  your  home  ?  I  am  prepared  to  pay 
a  liberal  price." 

Poor  Asaph  was  kind  of  throwed  on  his  beam 
ends,  so's  to  speak.  He  hemmed  and  hawed, 
and  finally  had  to  blurt  out  that  he  didn't  own 
the  place.  The  Laments  was  astonished.  The 
colonel  wanted  to  know  if  it  belonged  to  Mrs. 
Badger. 

"Why,  no,"  says  Ase.  "The  fact  is — that  is 
to  say — you  see— 

And  just  then  the  widow  opened  the  kitchen 
window  and  called  to  'em. 

"Colonel  Lament,"  says  she,  "there's  a  sail 
boat  beating  up  the  harbor,  and  I  think  the  folks 
on  it  are  looking  for  you." 


252       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

The  colonel  excused  himself,  and  run  off  down 
the  hill  toward  the  back  side  of  the  point,  and 
Asaph  was  left  alone  with  the  girl.  He  see,  I 
s'pose,  that  here  was  his  chance  to  make  the  best 
yarn  out  of  what  was  bound  to  come  out  any 
how  in  a  few  minutes.  So  he  fetched  a  sigh  that 
sounded  as  if  'twas  racking  loose  the  founda 
tions  and  commenced. 

He  asked  Mabel  if  she  was  prepared  to  hear 
something  that  would  shock  her  tumble,  some 
thing  that  would  undermine  her  confidence  in 
human  natur'.  She  was  a  good  deal  upset,  and 
no  wonder,  but  she  braced  up  and  let  on  that 
she  guessed  she  could  stand  it.  So  then  he  told 
her  that  her  dad  and  her  had  been  deceived,  that 
that  house  wa'n't  his  nor  Mrs.  Badger's;  'twas 
the  Wellmouth  poor  farm,  and  he  was  a  pauper. 

She  was  shocked,  all  right  enough,  but  afore 
she  had  a  chance  to  ask  a  question,  he  begun  to 
tell  her  the  story  of  his  life.  'Twas  a  fine  chance 
for  him  to  spread  himself,  and  I  cal'late  he  done 
it  to  the  skipper's  taste.  He  told  her  how  him 
and  his  sister  had  lived  in  their  little  home,  their 
own  little  nest,  over  there  by  the  shore,  for  years 
and  years.  He  led  her  out  to  where  she  could 
see  the  roof  of  his  old  shanty  over  the  sand  hills, 
and  he  wiped  his  eyes  and  raved  over  it.  You'd 
think  that  tumble-down  shack  was  a  hunk  out 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  253 

of  paradise;  Adam  and  Eve's  place  in  the  Gar 
den  was  a  short  lobster  'longside  of  it.  Then, 
he  said,  he  was  took  down  with  an  incurable 
disease.  He  tried  and  tried  to  get  along,  but 
'twas  no  go.  He  mortgaged  the  shanty  to  a 
grasping  money  lender — meanin'  Poundberry — 
and  that  money  was  spent.  Then  his  sister 
passed  away  and  his  heart  broke;  so  they  took 
him  to  the  poorhouse. 

"Miss  Lamont,"  says  he,  "good-by.  Some 
times  in  the  midst  of  your  fashionable  career, 
in  your  gayety  and  so  forth,  pause,"  he  says, 
"and  give  a  thought  to  the  broken-hearted  pau 
per  who  has  told  you  his  life  tragedy." 

Well,  now,  you  take  a  green  girl,  right  fresh 
from  novels  and  music  lessons,  and  spring  that 
on  her — what  can  you  expect  ?  Mabel,  she  cried 
and  took  on  dreadful. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Blueworthy!"  says  she,  grabbing 
his  hand.  "I'm  so  glad  you  told  me.  I'm  so 
glad!  Cheer  up,"  she  says.  "I  respect  you 
more  than  ever,  and  my  father  and  I  will — 

Just  then  the  colonel  comes  puffing  up  the 
hill.  He  looked  as  if  he'd  heard  news. 

"My  child,"  he  says  in  a  kind  of  horrified 
whisper,  "can  you  realize  that  we  have  actually 
passed  the  night  in  the — in  the  almshouse?  ' 

Mabel    held    up    her    hand.     "Hush,    papa," 


254       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

she  says.  "Hush.  I  know  all  about  it.  Come 
away,  quick;  I've  got  something  very  impor 
tant  to  say  to  you." 

And  she  took  her  dad's  arm  and  went  off  down 
the  hill,  mopping  her  pretty  eyes  with  her  hand 
kerchief  and  smiling  back,  every  once  in  a  while, 
through  her  tears,  at  Asaph. 

Now,  it  happened  that  there  was  a  selectmen's 
meeting  that  afternoon  at  four  o'clock.  I  was 
on  hand,  and  so  was  Zoeth  Tiddit  and  most  of 
the  others.  Cap'n  Poundberry  and  Darius  Gott 
were  late.  Zoeth  was  as  happy  as  a  clam  at  high 
water;  he'd  sold  the  poorhouse  property  that 
very  day  to  a  Colonel  Lamont,  from  Harniss, 
who  wanted  it  for  a  summer  place. 

"And  I  got  the  price  we  set  on  it,  too,"  says 
Zoeth.  "But  that  wa'n't  the  funniest  part  of  it. 
Seems's  old  man  Lamont  and  his  daughter  was 
very  much  upset  because  Debby  Badger  and  Ase 
Blueworthy  would  be  turned  out  of  house  and 
home  'count  of  the  place  being  sold.  The  col 
onel  was  hot  foot  for  giving  'em  a  check  for  five 
hundred  dollars  to  square  things;  said  his  daugh- 
ter'd  made  him  promise  he  would.  Says  I: 
'You  can  give  it  to  Debby,  if  you  want  to,  but 
don't  lay  a  copper  on  that  Blueworthy  fraud/ 
Then  I  told  him  the  truth  about  Ase.  He  couldn't 
hardly  believe  it,  but  I  finally  convinced  him, 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  255 

and  he  made  out  the  check  to  Debby.  I  took  it 
down  to  her  myself  just  after  dinner.  Ase  was 
there,  and  his  eyes  pretty  nigh  popped  out  of  his 
head. 

"Look  here,'  I  says  to  him;  *if  you'd  been 
worth  a  continental  you  might  have  had  some 
of  this.  As  it  is,  you'll  be  farmed  out  somewheres 
— that's  what'll  happen  to  you." 

And  as  Zoeth  was  telling  this,  in  comes  Cap'n 
Benijah.  He  was  happy,  too. 

"I  cal'late  the  Laments  must  be  buying  all 
the  property  alongshore,"  he  says  when  he  heard 
the  news.  "I  sold  that  old  shack  that  I  took 
from  Blueworthy  to  that  Lament  girl  to-day 
for  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  She  wouldn't 
say  what  she  wanted  of  it,  neither,  and  I  didn't 
care  much;  7  was  glad  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"7  can  tell  you  what  she  wanted  of  it,"  says 
somebody  behind  us.  We  turned  round  and 
'twas  Gott;  he'd  come  in.  "I  just  met  Squire 
Foster,"  he  says,  "and  the  squire  tells  me  that 
that  Lament  girl  come  into  his  office  with  the 
bill  of  sale  for  the  property  you  sold  her  and 
made  him  deed  it  right  over  to  Ase  Blueworthy, 
as  a  present  from  her." 

"  What?  "  says  all  hands,  Poundberry  loudest 
Of  all. 

"That's   right,"   said   Darius.     "She   told   the 


256       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

squire  a  long  rigamarole  about  what  a  martyr 
Ase  was,  and  how  her  dad  was  going  to  do  some 
thing  for  him,  but  that  she  was  going  to  give  him 
his  home  back  again  with  her  own  money,  money 
her  father  had  given  her  to  buy  a  ring  with,  she 
said,  though  that  ain't  reasonable,  of  course — no- 
body'd  pay  that  much  for  a  ring.  The  squire  tried 
to  tell  her  what  a  no-good  Ase  was,  but  she  froze 
him  quicker'n—  Where  you  going,  Cap'n  Benije  ?" 

"I'm  going  down  to  that  poorhouse,"  hollers 
Poundberry.  "I'll  find  out  the  rights  and  wrongs 
of  this  thing  mighty  quick." 

We  all  said  we'd  go  with  him,  and  we  wrent, 
six  in  one  carryall.  As  we  hove  in  sight  of  the 
poorhouse  a  buggy  drove  away  from  it,  going  in 
t'other  direction. 

"That  looks  like  the  Baptist  minister's  buggy," 
says  Darius.  "What  on  earth's  he  been  down 
here  for  ?  " 

Nobody  could  guess.  As  we  run  alongside  the 
poorhouse  door,  Ase  Blueworthy  stepped  out,  leading 
Debby  Badger.  She  was  as  red  as  an  auction  flag. 

"By  time,  Ase  Blueworthy!"  hollers  Cap'n 
Benijah,  starting  to  get  out  of  the  carryall,  "what 
do  you  mean  by—  Debby,  what  are  you 
holding  that  rascal's  hand  for  ?  " 

But  Ase  cut  him  short.  "Cap'n  Poundberry," 
says  he,  dignified  as  a  boy  with  a  stiff"  neck,  "I 


HIS  NATIVE  HEATH  257 

might  pass  over  your  remarks  to  me,  but  when 
you  address  my  wn'e " 

"Your  wife?  '  hollers  everybody — everybody 
but  the  cap'n;  he  only  sort  of  gurgled. 

"My  wife,"  says  Asaph.  "When  you  men — 
church  members,  too,  some  of  you — sold  the  house 
over  her  head,  I'm  proud  to  say  that  I,  having 
a  home  once  more,  was  able  to  step  for'ard  and 
jsk  her  to  share  it  with  me.  We  was.  married 
•I  few  minutes  ago,"  he  says. 

"And,  oh,  Cap'n  Poundberry!"  cried  Debby, 
ooking  as  if  this  was  the  most  wonderful  part 
of  it — "oh,  Cap'n  Poundberry!"  she  says,  "we've 
known  for  a  long  time  that  some  man — an  un 
common  kind  of  man — was  coming  to  offer  me 
a  home  some  day,  but  even  Asaph  didn't  know 
'twas  himself;  did  you,  Asaph  ?  " 

We  selectmen  talked  the  thing  over  going  home, 
but  Cap'n  Benijah  didn't  speak  till  we  was  turn 
ing  in  at  his  gate.  Then  he  fetched  his  knee 
a  thump  with  his  fist,  and  says  he,  in  the  most 
disgusted  tone  ever  I  heard: 

"A  house  and  lot  for  nothing,"  he  says,  "a 
wife  to  do  the  work  for  him,  and  five  hundred 
dollars  to  spend !  Sometimes  the  way  this  world's 
run  gives  me  moral  indigestion." 

WThich  was  tolerable  radical  for  a  Come-Outer 
to  say,  seems  to  me. 


JONESY 


JONESY 

'Twas  Peter  T.  Brown  that  suggested  it,  you 
might  know.  And,  as  likewise  you  might  know, 
'twas  Cap'n  Jonadab  that  done  the  most  of  the 
growling. 

"They  ain't  no  sense  in  it,  Peter,"  says  he. 
"Education's  all  right  in  its  place,  but  'tain't 
no  good  out  of  it.  Why,  one  of  my  last  voyages 
in  the  schooner  Samuel  Emory,  I  had  a  educated 
cook,  feller  that  had  graduated  from  one  of  them 
correspondence  schools.  He  had  his  diploma 
framed  and  hung  up  on  the  wall  of  the  galley 
along  with  tintypes  of  two  or  three  of  his  wives, 
and  pictures  cut  out  of  the  Police  News,  and 
the  like  of  that.  And  cook!  Why,  say!  one 
of  the  fo'mast  hands  ate  half  a  dozen  of  that 
cook's  saleratus  biscuit  and  fell  overboard.  If 
he  hadn't  been  tangled  up  in  his  cod  line,  so  we 
could  haul  him  up  by  that,  he'd  have  been  down 
yet.  He'd  never  have  riz  of  his  own  accord,  not 
with  them  biscuits  in  him.  And  as  for  his  pie! 
the  mate  ate  one  of  them  bakeshop  paper  plates 

261 


262         THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

one  time,  thinking  'twas  under  crust;  and  he 
kept  sayin'  how  unusual  tender  'twas,  at  that. 
Now,  what  good  was  education  to  that  cook  ? 
Why " 

"Cut  it  out!"  says  Peter T.,  disgusted.  "Who's 
talking  about  cooks  ?  These  fellers  ain't  cooks — • 
they're " 

"I  know.  They're  waiters.  Now,  there  'tis 
again.  When  I  give  an  order  and  there's  any 
back  talk,  I  want  to  understand  it-  You  take 
a  passe)  of  college  fellers,  like  you  want  to  hire 
for  waiters.  S'pose  I  tell  one  of  'em  to  do  some 
thing,  and  he  answers  back  in  Greek  or  Hindoo, 
or  such.  /  can't  tell  what  he  says.  I  sha'n't 
know  whether  to  bang  him  over  the  head  or  give 
him  a  cigar.  What's  the  matter  with  the  waiters 
we  had  last  year  ?  They  talked  Irish,  of  course, 
but  I  understood  the  most  of  that,  and  when  I 
didn't  'twas  safe  to  roll  up  my  sleeves  and  begin 
arguing.  But " 

"Oh,  ring  off!"  says  Peter.     "Twenty-three!" 

And  so  they  had  it,  back  and  forth.  I  didn't 
say  nothing.  I  knew  how  'twould  end.  If 
Peter  T.  Brown  thought  'twas  good  judgment 
to  hire  a  mess  of  college  boys  for  waiters,  fellers 
who  could  order  up  the  squab  in  pigeon-English 
and  the  ham  in  hog-Latin,  I  didn't  care,  so  long 
as  the  orders  and  boarders  got  rilled  and  the  pay- 


JONEST  263 

roll  didn't  have  growing  pains.  I  had  consid 
erable  faith  in  Brown's  ideas,  and  he  was  as  set 
on  this  one  as  a  Brahma  hen  on  a  plaster  nest- 
egg- 

"It'll  give  tone  to  the  shebang,"  says  he,  re 
ferring  to  the  hotel;  "and  we  want  to  keep  the 
Old  Home  House  as  high-toned  as  a  ten-story 
organ  factory.  And  as  for  education,  that's  a 
matter  of  taste.  Me,  I'd  just  as  soon  have  a 
waiter  that  bashfully  admitted  'Wee,  my  dam/  as 
I  would  one  that  pushed  'Shur-r-e,  Moike!'  edge 
ways  out  of  one  corner  of  his  mouth  and  served 
the  lettuce  on  top  of  the  lobster,  from  principle, 
to  keep  the  green  above  the  red.  When  it  comes 
to  tone  and  tin,  Cap'n,  you  trust  your  Uncle 
Pete;  he  hasn't  been  sniffling  around  the  tainted- 
money  bunch  all  these  days  with  a  cold  in  his 
head." 

So  it  went  his  way  finally,  as  I  knew  it  would, 
and  when  the  Old  Home  opened  up  on  June 
first,  the  college  waiters  was  on  hand.  And  they 
was  as  nice  a  lot  of  boys  as  ever  handled  plates 
and  wiped  dishes  for  their  board  and  four  dol 
lars  a  week.  They  was  poor,  of  course,  and 
working  their  passage  through  what  they  called 
the  "varsity,"  but  they  attended  to  business  and 
wa'n't  a  mite  set  up  by  their  learning. 

And  they  made  a  hit  with  the  boarders,  espe- 


264        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

cially  the  women  folks.  Take  the  crankiest 
old  battle  ship  that  ever  cruised  into  breakfast 
with  diamond  headlights  showing  and  a  pretty 
daughter  in  tow,  and  she  would  eat  lumpy  oat 
meal  and  scorched  eggs  and  never  sound  a  distress 
signal.  How  could  she,  with  one  of  them  nice- 
looking  gentlemanly  waiters  hanging  over  her 
starboard  beam  and  purring,  "Certainly,  madam," 
and  "Two  lumps  or  one,  madam?"  into  her 
ear  ?  Then,  too,  she  hadn't  much  time  to  find 
fault  with  the  grub,  having  to  keep  one  eye  on 
the  daughter.  The  amount  of  complaints  that 
them  college  boys  saved  in  the  first  fortnight 
was  worth  their  season's  wages,  pretty  nigh. 
Before  June  was  over  the  Old  Home  was  full 
up  and  we  had  to  annex  a  couple  of  next-door 
houses  for  the  left-overs. 

I  was  skipper  for  one  of  them  houses,  and  Jonadab 
run  the  other.  Each  of  us  had  a  cook  and  a 
waiter,  a  housekeeper  and  an  up-stairs  girl.  My 
housekeeper  was  the  boss  prize  in  the  package. 
Her  name  was  Mabel  Seabury,  and  she  was 
young  and  quiet  and  as  pretty  as  the  first  bunch 
of  Mayflowers  in  the  spring.  And  a  lady — 
whew!  The  first  time  I  set  opposite  to  her  at 
table  I  made  up  my  mind  I  wouldn't  drink  out 
of  my  sasser  if  I  scalded  the  lining  off  my  throat. 

She  was  city  born   and   brought   up,   but   she 


JONEST  265 

wa'n't  one  of  your  common  "He!  he!  ain't  you 
tumble!"  lunch-counter  princesses,  with  a  head 
like  a  dandelion  gone  to  seed  and  a  fish-net  waist. 
You  bet  she  wa'n't!  Her  dad  had  had  money 
once,  afore  he  tried  to  beat  out  Jonah  and  swal 
low  the  stock  exchange  whale.  After  that  he 
was  skipper  of  a  little  society  library  up  to  Cam 
bridge,  and  she  kept  house  for  him.  Then  he  died 
and  left  her  his  blessing,  and  some  of  Peter  Brown's 
wife's  folks,  that  knew  her  when  she  was  well 
off,  got  her  the  job  of  housekeeper  here  with  us. 
The  only  trouble  she  made  was  first  along, 
and  that  wa'n't  her  fault.  I  thought  at  one  time 
we'd  have  to  put  up  a  wire  fence  to  keep  them 
college  waiters  away  from  her.  They  hung 
around  her  like  a  passel  of  gulls  around  a  her 
ring  boat.  She  was  nice  to  'em,  too,  but  when 
you're  just  so  nice  to  everybody  and  not  nice 
enough  to  any  special  one,  the  prospect  ain't 
encouraging.  So  they  give  it  up,  but  there  wa'n't 
a  male  on  the  place,  from  old  Dr.  Blatt,  mixer 
of  Blatt's  Burdock  Bitters  and  Blatt's  Balm  for 
Beauty,  down  to  the  boy  that  emptied  the  ashes, 
who  wouldn't  have  humped  himself  on  all  fours 
and  crawled  eight  miles  if  she'd  asked  him  to. 

o 

And  that  includes  me  and  Cap'n  Jonadab,  and 
we're  about  as  tough  a  couple  of  women-proof 
old  hulks  as  you'll  find  afloat. 


Jonadab  took  a  special  interest  in  her.  It  pretty 
nigh  broke  his  heart  to  think  she  was  running 
my  house  instead  of  his.  He  thought  she'd  ought 
to  be  married  and  have  a  home  of  her  own. 

"Well/*  says  I,  "why  don't  she  get  married 
then  ?  She  could  drag  out  and  tie  up  any  single 
critter  of  the  right  sex  in  this  neighborhood  with 
both  hands  behind  her  back." 

"Humph!"  says  he.  "I  s'pose  you'd  have 
her  marry  one  of  these  soup-toting  college  chaps, 
wouldn't  you  ?  Then  they  could  live  on  Greek 
for  breakfast  and  Latin  for  dinner  and  warm 
over  the  leavings  for  supper.  No,  sir!  a  girl 
hasn't  no  right  to  get  married  unless  she  gets  a 
man  with  money.  There's  a  deck-load  of  mill 
ionaires  comes  here  every  summer,  and  I'm  goin* 
to  help  her  land  one  of  'em.  It's  my  duty  as  a 
Christian,"  says  he. 

One  evening,  along  the  second  week  in  July 
'twas,  I  got  up  from  the  supper-table  and  walked 
over  toward  the  hotel,  smoking,  and  thinking 
what  I'd  missed  in  not  having  a  girl  like  that  set 
opposite  me  all  these  years.  And,  in  the  shaddei 
of  the  big  bunch  of  lilacs  by  the  gate,  I  see  a  feller 
standing,  a  feller  with  a  leather  bag  in  his  hand, 
a  stranger 

"Good  evening,"  says  I.  "Looking  for  the 
hotel,  was  you  ?  " 


JONESr  267 

He  swung  round,  kind  of  lazy-like,  and  looked 
at  me.  Then  I  noticed  how  big  he  was.  Seemed 
to  me  he  was  all  of  seven  foot  high  and  broad 
according.  And  rigged  up — my  soul!  He  had 
on  a  wide,  felt  hat,  with  a  whirligig  top  onto  it, 
and  a  light  checked  suit,  and  gloves,  and  slung 
more  style  than  a  barber  on  Sunday.  If  I'd 
wore  them  kind  of  duds  they'd  have  had  me  down 
to  Danvers,  clanking  chains  and  picking  straws, 
but  on  this  young  chap  they  looked  fine. 

"Good  evening,"  says  the  seven-footer,  look 
ing  down  and  speaking  to  me  cheerful.  "Is  this 
the  Old  Ladies'  Home — the  Old  Home  House, 
I  should  say  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I,  looking  up  reverent  at  that 
hat. 

"Right,"  he  says.  '"Will  you  be  good  enough 
to  tell  me  where  I  can  find  the  proprietor  ?  " 

"Well,"  says  I,  "I'm  him;  that  is,  I'm  one 
of  him.  But  I'm  afraid  we  can't  accommodate 
you ,  mister,  not  now.  We  ain't  got  a  room  no- 
wheres  that  ain't  full." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  off  his  cigarette.  "I'm 
not  looking  for  a  room,"  says  he,  "except  as  a 
side  issue.  I'm  looking  for  a  job." 

"A  job!"  I  sings  out.     "A  job?" 

"Yes.  I  understand  you  employ  college  men 
as  waiters.  I'm  from  Harvard,  and " 


268        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"A  waiter  ?  "  I  says,  so  astonished  that  I  could 
hardly  swaller.  "  Be  you  a  waiter  ?  " 

"/  don't  know.  I've  been  told  so.  Our 
coach  used  to  say  I  was  the  best  waiter  on  the 
team.  At  any  rate  I'll  try  the  experiment." 

Soon's  ever  I  could  gather  myself  together  I 
reached  across  and  took  hold  of  his  arm. 

"Son,"  says  I,  "you  come  with  me  and  turn  in. 
You'll  feel  better  in  the  morning.  I  don't  know 
where  I'll  put  you,  unless  it's  the  bowling  alley, 
but  I  guess  that's  your  size.  You  oughtn't  to 
get  this  way  at  your  age." 

He  laughed  a  big,  hearty  laugh,  same  as  I 
like  to  hear.  "It's  straight,"  he  says.  "I 
mean  it.  I  want  a  job." 

"  But  what  for  ?     You  ain't  short  of  cash  ?  " 

"You  bet!"  he  says.     "Strapped." 

"Then,"  says  I,  "you  come  with  me  to-night 
and  to-morrer  morning  you  go  somewheres  and 
sell  them  clothes  you've  got  on.  You'll  make 
more  out  of  that  than  you  will  passing  pie,  if 
you  passed  it  for  a  year." 

He  laughed  again,  but  he  said  he  was  bound  to 
be  a  waiter  and  if  I  couldn't  help  him  he'd  have  to 
hunt  up  the  other  portion  of  the  proprietor.  So  I 
told  him  to  stay  where  he  was,  and  I  went  off 
and  found  Peter  T.  You'd  ought  to  seen  Peter 
stare  when  we  hove  in  sight  of  the  candidate. 


JONEST  269 

"Thunder!"  says  he.  "Is  this  Exhibit  One, 
Barzilla  ?  Where'd  you  pick  up  the  Chinese 
giant  ? 

I  done  the  polite,  mentioning  Brown's  name 
hesitating  on  t'other  chap's. 

"Er- Jones,"  says  the  human  lighthouse.  "Er- 
)<es;  Jones." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Jones,"  says  Peter. 
"  So  you  want  to  be  a  waiter,  do  you  ?  For  how 
much  per  ?  ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I'll  begin  at  the  bottom, 
being  a  green  hand.  Twenty  a  week  or  so;  what 
ever  you're  accustomed  to  paying." 

Brown  choked.  "The  figure's  all  right,"  he 
says,  "  only  it  covers  a  month  down  here." 

"Right!"  says  Jones,  not  a  bit  shook  up.  "A 
month  goes." 

Peter  stepped  back  and  looked  him  over, 
beginning  with  the  tan  shoes  and  ending  with 
the  whirligig  hat. 

"Jonesy,"  says  he,  finally,  "you're  on.  Take 
him  to  the  servants'  quarters,  Wingate." 

A  little  later,  when  I  had  the  chance  and  had 
Brown  alone,  I  says  to  him: 

"Peter,"  says  I,  "for  the  land  sakes  what  did 
you  hire  the  emperor  for  ?  A  blind  man  could  see 
he  wa'n't  no  waiter.  And  we  don't  need  him  any 
how;  no  more'n  a  cat  needs  three  tails.  Why " 


270        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

But  he  was  back  at  me  before  I  could  wink. 
"Need  him?"  he  says.  "Why,  Barzilla,  we 
need  him  more  than  the  old  Harry  needs  a  con 
science.  Take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  him!  Size 
him  up !  He  puts  all  the  rest  of  the  Greek  statues 
ten  miles  in  the  shade.  If  I  could  only  manage 
to  get  his  picture  in  the  papers  we'd  have  all 
the  romantic  old  maids  in  Boston  down  here 
inside  of  a  week;  and  there's  enough  of  them 
to  keep  one  hotel  going  till  judgment.  Need 
him?  Whew!" 

Next  morning  we  was  at  the  breakfast-table 
in  my  branch  establishment,  me  and  Mabel  and 
the  five  boarders.  All  hands  was  doing  their 
best  to  start  a  famine  in  the  fruit  market,  and 
Dr.  Blatt  was  waving  a  banana  and  cheering  us 
with  a  yarn  about  an  old  lady  that  his  Burdock 
Bitters  had  h'isted  bodily  out  of  the  tomb.  He 
was  at  the  most  exciting  part,  the  bitters  and 
the  undertaker  coming  down  the  last  lap  neck 
and  neck,  and  an  even  bet  who'd  win  the  patient, 
when  the  kitchen  door  opens  and  in  marches 
the  waiter  with  the  tray  full  of  dishes  of  "cereal." 
Seems  to  me  'twas  chopped  hay  we  had  that 
morning — either  that  or  shavings;  I  always  get 
them  breakfast  foods  mixed  up. 

But  'twa'n't  the  hay  that  made  everybody  set 
up   and  take  notice.     'Twas  the  waiter  himself^ 


JONESr  271 

Our  regular  steward  was  a  spindling  little  critter 
with  curls  and  eye-glasses  who  answered  to  the 
hail  of  "Percy."  This  fellow  clogged  up  the 
scenery  like  a  pet  elephant,  and  was  down  in  the 
shipping  list  as  "Jones." 

The  doc  left  his  invalid  hanging  on  the  edge 
of  the  grave,  and  stopped  and  stared.  Old  Mrs. 
Bounderby  h'isted  the  gold-mounted  double  spy 
glass  she  had  slung  round  her  neck  and  took  an 
observation.  Her  daughter  "Maizie"  fetched 
a  long  breath  and  shut  her  eyes,  like  she'd  seen 
her  finish  and  was  resigned  to  it. 

"Well,  Mr.  Jones,"  says  I,  soon's  I  could  get 
my  breath,  "this  is  kind  of  unexpected,  ain't  it? 
Thought  you  was  booked  for  the  main  deck." 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  says,  polite  as  a  sewing-machine 
agent,  "I  was,  but  Percy  and  I  have  exchanged. 
Cereal  this  morning,  madam  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bounderby  took  her  measure  of  shav 
ings  and  Jones's  measure  at  the  same  time. 
She  had  him  labeled  "Danger"  right  off;  you 
could  tell  that  by  the  way  she  spread  her  wings 
over  "Maizie."  But  I  wa'n't  watching  her  just 
then.  I  was  looking  at  Mabel  Seabury — looking 
and  wondering. 

The  housekeeper  was  white  as  the  tablecloth. 
She  stared  at  the  Jones  man  as  if  she  couldn't 
believe  her  eyes,  and  her  breath  come  short  and 


272        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

quick.  I  thought  sure  she  was  going  to  cry. 
And  what  she  ate  of  that  meal  wouldn't  have 
made  a  lunch  for  a  hearty  humming-bird. 

When  'twas  finished  I  went  out  on  the  porch 
to  think  things  over.  The  dining  room  winder 
was  open  and  Jonesy  was  clearing  the  table. 
All  of  a  sudden  I  heard  him  say,  low  and  earnest: 

"Well,  aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  me  ?  ' 

The  answer  was  in  a  girl's  voice,  and  I  knew 
the  voice.  It  said: 

"Youljyow/  How  couldyou  ?  Why  did  you  come  ?" 

"You  didn't  think  I  could  stay  away,  did  you  ?" 

"But  how  did  you  know  I  was  here?  I  tried 
jo  hard  to  keep  it  a  secret." 

"It  took  me  a  month,  but  I  worked  it  out 
finally.  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

She  burst  out  crying  then,  quiet,  but  as  if 
her  heart  was  hroke. 

"Oh!"  she  sobs.  "How  could  you  be  so 
cruel!  And  they've  been  so  kind  to  me  here." 

I  went  away  then,  thinking  harder  than  ever. 
At  dinner  Jonesy  done  the  waiting,  but  Mabel 
wa'n't  on  deck.  She  had  a  headache,  the  cook 
said,  and  was  lying  down.  'Twas  the  same  way 
at  supper,  and  after  supper  Peter  Brown  comes 
to  me,  all  broke  up,  and  says  he: 

"There's  merry  clink  to  pay,"  he  says.  "Ma 
bel's  going  to  leave." 


JONESr  273 

"No?"  says  I.     "She  ain't  neither!" 
"Yes,  she  is.     She  says  she's   going  to-morrer. 
She  won't  tell  me  why,  and  I've  argued  with    her 
for  two  hours.     She's  going  to  quit,  and  I'd  rather 
enough  sight  quit  myself.  What'll  we  do  ?"  says  he. 
I  couldn't  help  him  none,  and  he  went  away, 
moping    and    miserable.     All    round    the    place 
everybody  was  talking  about  the   "lovely"  new 
waiter,  and  to  hear  the  girls  go  on  you'd  think 
the  Prince  of  Wales  had  landed.     Jonadab  was 
the  only  kicker,  and  he  said   'twas  bad  enough 
afore,    but   now   that    new    dude    had     shipped, 
'twa'n't   the   place   for   a   decent,   self-respecting 
man. 

"How  you  goin'  to  order  that  Grand  Panjan 
drum  around  ?  "  he  says.  "Great  land  of  Goshen! 
I'd  as  soon  think  of  telling  the  Pope  of  Rome  to 
empty  a  pail  of  swill  as  I  would  him.  Why 
don't  he  stay  to  home  and  be  a  tailor's  sign  or 
something  ?  Not  prance  around  here  with  his 
high-toned  airs.  I'm  glad  you've  got  him,  Bar- 
zilla,  and  not  me." 

Well,  most  of  that  was  plain  jealousy,  so  I 
didn't  contradict.  Besides  I  was  too  busy  think 
ing.  By  eight  o'clock  I'd  made  up  my  mind 
and  I  went  hunting  for  Jones. 

I  found  him,  after  a  while,  standing  by  the 
back  door  and  staring  up  at  the  chamber  win- 


274       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

ders  as  if  he  missed  something.  I  asked  him  to 
come  along  with  me.  Told  him  I  had  a  big 
cargo  of  talk  aboard,  and  wouldn't  be  able  to 
cruise  on  an  even  keel  till  I'd  unloaded  some  of 
it.  So  he  fell  into  my  wake,  looking  puzzled, 
and  in  a  jiffy  we  was  planted  in  the  rocking  chairs 
up  in  my  bedroom. 

"Look  here,"  says  I,  "Mr.— Mr. " 

"Jones,"  says  he. 

"Oh,  yes — Jones.     It's  a  nice  name." 

"I  remember  it  beautifully,"  says  he,  smiling. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Jones.  Now,  to  begin  with, 
we'll  agree  that  it  ain't  none  of  my  darn  busi 
ness,  and  I'm  an  old  gray-headed  nosey,  and  the 
like  of  that.  But,  being  that  I  am  old — old  enough 
to  be  your  dad,  though  that's  my  only  recommend 
for  the  job — I'm  going  to  preach  a  little  sermon. 
My  text  is  found  in  the  Old  Home  Hotel,  Well- 
mouth,  first  house  on  the  left.  It's  Miss  Sea- 
bury,"  says  I. 

He  was  surprised,  I  guess,  but  he  never  turned 
a  hair.  "Indeed?'1  he  says.  "She  is  the — • 
the  housekeeper,  isn't  she  ?  ' 

"She  was,"  says  I,  "but  she  leaves  to-morrer 
morning." 

That  hit  him  between  wind  and  water. 

"No?  "  he  sings  out,  setting  up  straight 
staring  at  me.     "Not  really  ?  " 


JONEST  275 

"You  bet,"  I  says.  "Now  down  in  this  part 
of  the  chart  we've  come  to  think  more  of  that 
young  lady  than  a  cat  does  of  the  only  kitten 
leit  out  of  the  bag  in  the  water  bucket.  Let  me 
tell  you  about  her." 

So  I  went  ahead,  telling  him  how  Mabel  had 
come  to  us,  why  she  come,  how  well  she  was 
liked,  how  much  she  liked  us,  and  a  whole  lot 
more.  I  guess  he  knew  the  most  of  it,  but  he 
was  too  polite  not  to  act  interested. 

"And  now,  all  at  once,"  says  I,  "she  gives 
up  being  happy  and  well  and  contented,  and 
won't  eat,  and  cries,  and  says  she's  going  to 
leave.  There's  a  reason,  as  the  advertisement 
folks  say,  and  I'm  going  to  make  a  guess  at  it. 
I  believe  it  calls  itself  Jones." 

His  under  jaw  pushed  out  a  little  and  his  eye 
brows  drew  together.  But  all  he  said  was, 
"Well  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  says.  "And  now,  Mr.  Jones,  I'm 
old,  as  I  said  afore,  and  nosey  maybe,  but  I  like 
that  girl.  Perhaps  I  might  come  to  like  you,  too; 
you  can't  tell.  Under  them  circumstances,  and 
with  the  understanding  that  it  didn't  go  no  farther, 
maybe  you  might  give  me  a  glimpse  of  the  lay  of  the 
land.  Possibly  I  mightThave  something  to  say  that 
would  help.  I'm  fairly  white  underneath,  if  I 
oc  sunburned.  What  do  you  think  about  it  f  ' 


276        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

He  didn't  answer  right  off;  seemed  to  be 
chewing  it  over.  After  a  spell  he  spoke. 

"Mr.  Wingate,"  says  he,  "with  the  under 
standing  that  you  mentioned,  I  don't  mind 
supposing  a  case.  Suppose  you  was  a  chap  in 
college.  Suppose  you  met  a  girl  in  the  vicin 
ity  that  was — well,  was  about  the  best  ever. 
Suppose  you  came  to  find  that  life  wasn't 
worth  a  continental  without  that  girl.  Then 
suppose  you  had  a  dad  with  money,  lots  of  money. 
Suppose  the  old  fo — the  gov'nor,  I  mean — with 
out  even  seeing  her  or  even  knowing  her  name 
or  a  thing  about  her,  said  no.  Suppose  you  and 
the  old  gentleman  had  a  devil  of  a  row,  and  broke 
off  for  keeps.  Then  suppose  the  girl  wouldn't 
listen  to  you  under  the  circumstances.  Talked 
rot  about  'wasted  future'  and  'throwing  your 
life  away'  and  so  on.  Suppose,  when  you  showed 
her  that  you  didn't  care  a  red  for  futures,  she  ran 
away  from  you  and  wouldn't  tell  where  she'd 
gone.  Suppose — well,  I  guess  that's  enough  sup 
posing.  I  don't  know  why  I'm  telling  you  these 
things,  anyway." 

He  stopped  and  scowled  at  the  floor,  acting 
like  he  was  sorry  he  spoke.  I  pulled  at  my 
pipe  a  minute  or  so  and  then  says  I: 

"  Hum ! "  I  says, "  I  presume  likely  it's  fair  to  sup 
pose  that  this  break  with  the  old  gent  is  for  good  ?  '* 


JONESr  277 

He  didn't  answer,  but  he  didn't  need  to;  the 
look  on  his  face  was  enough. 

"Yes,"  says  I.  "Well,  it's  likewise  to  be 
supposed  that  the  idea — the  eventual  idea — is 
marriage,  straight  marriage,  hey  ?  " 

He  jumped  out  of  his  chair.  "Why,  damn 
you!"  he  says.  "I'll " 

"All  right.  Set  down  and  be  nice.  I  was 
fairly  sure  of  my  soundings,  but  it  don't  do  no 
harm  to  heave  the  lead.  I  ask  your  pardon- 
Well,  what  you  going  to  support  a  wife  on — • 
her  kind  of  a  wife  ?  A  summer  waiter's  job 
at  twenty  a  month  ?  " 

He  set  down,  but  he  looked  more  troubled1 
than  ever.  I  was  sorry  for  him;  I  couldn't 
help  liking  the  boy. 

"Suppose  she  keeps  her  word  and  goes  away/* 
says  I.  "What  then?" 

"I'll  go  after  her." 

"Suppose  she  still  sticks  to  her  principles  and 
won't  have  you  ?  Where'll  you  go,  then  ?  " 

"To  the  hereafter,"  says  he,  naming  the  sta 
tion  at  the  end  of  the  route. 

"Oh,  well,  there's  no  hurry  about  that.  Most 
of  us  are  sure  of  a  free  one-way  pass  to  that  port 
some  time  or  other,  'cording  to  the  parson's  tell. 
See  here,  Jones;  let's  look  at  this  thing  like  a 
couple  of  men,  not  children.  You  don't  want 


278      THE  "  OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

to  keep  chasing  that  girl  from  pillar  to  post, 
making  her  more  miserable  than  she  is  now. 
And  you  ain't  in  no  position  to  marry  her.  The 
way  to  show  a  young  woman  like  her  that  you 
mean  business  and  are  going  to  be  wuth  cooking 
meals  for  is  to  get  the  best  place  you  can  and 
start  in  to  earn  a  living  and  save  money.  Now, 
Mr.  Brown's  father-in-law  is  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Dillaway,  Dillaway  of  the  Consolidated  Cash 
Stores.  He'll  do  things  for  me  if  I  ask  him  to, 
and  I  happen  to  know  that  he's  just  started  a 
branch  up  to  Providence  and  is  there  now.  Sup 
pose  I  give  you  a  note  to  him,  asking  him,  as  a 
favor  to  me,  to  give  you  the  best  job  he  can. 
He'll  do  it,  I  know.  After  that  it's  up  to  you. 
This  is,  of  course,  providing  that  you  start  for 
Providence  to-morrer  morning.  What  d'you 
say  ?  " 

He  was  thinking  hard.  "Suppose  I  don't 
•make  good  ?  "  he  says.  "  I  never  worked  in 
my  life.  And  suppose  she " 

"Oh,  suppose  your  granny's  pet  hon  hatched 
turkeys,"  I  says,  getting  impatient,  "I'll  risk 
your  making  good.  I  wa'n't  a  first  mate,  ship 
ping  fo'mast  hands  ten  years,  for  nothing.  ! 
can  generally  tell  beet  greens  from  cabbage  with 
out  waiting  to  smell  'em  cooking.  And  as  for 
her,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  girl  who  thinks  enough 


JONEST  27$ 

of  a  feller  to  run  away  from  him  so's  he  won't 
spile  his  future,  won't  like  him  no  less  for  being 
willing  to  work  and  wait  for  her.  You  stay 
here  and  think  it  over.  I'm  going  out  for  a  spell." 

When  I  come  back  Jonesy  was  ready  for  me. 

"Mr.  Wingate,"  says  he,  "it's  a  deal.  Pm 
going  to  go  you,  though  I  think  you're  plunging 
on  a  hundred-to-one  shot.  Some  day  I'll  tell 
you  more  about  myself,  maybe.  But  now  I'm 
going  to  take  your  advice  and  the  position.  I'll 
do  my  best,  and  I  must  say  you're  a  brick.  Thanks 
awfully." 

"Good  enough!"  I  says.  "Now  you  go  and 
tell  her,  and  I'll  write  the  letter  to  Dillaway." 

So  the  next  forenoon  Peter  T.  Brown  was 
joyful  all  up  one  side  because  Mabel  had  said 
she'd  stay,  and  mournful  all  down  the  other 
because  his  pet  college  giant  had  quit  almost 
afore  he  started.  I  kept  my  mouth  shut,  that 
being  the  best  play  I  know  of,  nine  cases  out  often. 

I  went  up  to  the  depot  with  Jonesy  to  see 
him  off. 

"Good-by,  old  man,"  he  says,  shaking  hands. 
"You'll  write  me  once  in  a  while,  telling  me 
how  she  is,  and — and  so  on  ?  " 

"Bet  you!"  says  I.  "I'll  keep  you  posted 
up.  And  let's  hear  how  you  tackle  the  Cott« 
solidated  Cash  business." 


280       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

July  and  the  first  two  weeks  in  August  moped 
along  and  everything  at  the  Old  Home  House 
kept  about  the  same.  Mabel  was  in  mighty 
good  spirits,  for  her,  and  she  got  prettier  every 
day.  I  had  a  couple  of  letters  from  Jones,  say 
ing  that  he  guessed  he  could  get  bookkeeping 
through  his  skull  in  time  without  a  surgical  opera 
tion,  and  old  Dillaway  was  down  over  one  Sun 
day  and  was  preaching  large  concerning  the 
"find"  my  candidate  was  for  the  Providence 
branch.  So  I  guessed  I  hadn't  made  no  mistake. 

I  had  considerable  fun  with  Cap'n  Jonadab 
over  his  not  landing  a  rich  husband  for  the  Sea- 
bury  girl.  Looked  like  the  millionaire  crop  was 
going  to  be  a  failure  that  summer. 

"Aw,  belay!"  says  he,  short  as  baker's  pie 
crust.  "The  season  ain't  over  yet.  You  bet 
ter  take  a  bath  in  the  salt  mack'rel  kag;  you're 
too  fresh  to  keep  this  hot  weather." 

Talking  "husband"  to  him  was  like  rubbing 
pain-killer  on  a  scalded  pup,  so  I  had  some 
thing  to  keep  me  interested  dull  days.  But  one 
morning  he  comes  to  me,  excited  as  a  mouse 
at  a  cat  show,  and  says  he: 

"Ah,  ha!    what  did  I  tell  you  ?     I've  got  one!" 

"I  see  you  have,"  says  I.  "Want  me  to  send 
for  the  doctor  ?  " 

"Stop    your    foolishing,"    he    says.     "I    mean 


JONEST  281 

I've  got  a  millionaire.  He's  coming  to-night, 
too.  One  of  the  biggest  big-bugs  there  is  in 
New  York.  Ah,  ha !  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 

He  was  fairly  boiling  over  with  gloat,  but  from 
between  the  bubbles  I  managed  to  find  out  that 
the  new  boarder  was  a  big  banker  from  New 
York,  name  of  Van  Wedderburn,  with  a  barrel 
of  cash  and  a  hogshead  of  dyspepsy.  He  was  a 
Wall  Street  "bear,"  and  a  steady  diet  of  lamb 
with  mint  sass  had  fetched  him  to  where  the 
doctors  said  'twas  lay  off  for  two  months  or  be 
laid  out  for  keeps. 

"And  I've  fixed  it  that  he's  to  stop  at  your 
house,  Barzilla,"  crows  Jonadab.  "And  when 
he  sees  Mabel — well,  you  know  what  she's  done 
to  the  other  men  folks,"  he  says. 

"Humph!"  says  I,  "maybe  he's  got  dyspepsy 
of  the  heart  along  with  the  other  kind.  She 
might  disagree  with  him.  What  makes  you  so 
cock  sartin  ?  " 

"'Cause  he's  a  widower,"  he  says.  "Them's 
the  softest  kind." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know,"  I  told  him. 
"You're  one  yourself.  But,  from  what  I've 
heard,  soft  things  are  scarce  in  Wall  Street. 
Bet  you  seventy-five  cents  to  a  quarter  it  don't 
work." 

He  wouldn't  take  me,  having  scruples  against 


282       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

betting — except  when  he  had  the  answer  in  his 
pocket.  But  he  went  away  cackling  joyful,  and 
that  night  Van  Wedderburn  arrived. 

Van  was  a  substantial-looking  old  relic,  built 
on  the  lines  of  the  Boston  State  House,  broad 
in  the  beam  and  with  a  shiny  dome  on  top.  But 
he  could  qualify  for  the  nervous  dyspepsy  class 
all  right,  judging  by  his  langunge  to  the  depot- 
wagon  driver.  When  he  got  through  making 
remarks  because  one  of  his  trunks  had  been  for 
got,  that  driver's  quotation,  according  to  Peter 
T.,  had  "dropped  to  thirty  cents,  with  a  second 
assessment  called.'*  I  jedged  the  meals  at  our 
table  would  be  as  agreeable  as  a  dog-fight. 

However,  'twas  up  to  me,  and  I  towed  him 
in  and  made  him  acquainted  with  Mabel.  She 
wa'n't  enthusiastic — having  heard  some  of  the 
driver  sermon,  I  cal'late — until  I  mentioned  his 
name.  Then  she  gave  a  little  gasp  like.  When 
Van  had  gone  up  to  his  rooms,  puffing  like  a 
donkey-engyne  and  growling  'cause  there  wa'n't 
no  elevators,  she  took  me  by  the  arm  and  says  she : 

"  What  did  you  say  his  name  was,  Mr.  Win- 
gate  ?  " 

"Van  Wedderburn,"  says  I.  "The  New  York 
millionaire  one." 

"Not  of  Van  Wedderburn  &  Hamilton,  the 
bankers  ?  "  she  asks,  eager. 


JONESr  283, 

"That's  him,"  says  I.  "Why?  Do  you  know 
him  ?  Did  his  ma  used  to  do  washing  at  your 
house  ?  " 

She  laughed,  but  her  face  was  all  lit  up  and 
her  eyes  fairly  shone.  I  could  have — but  there! 
never  mind. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  says,  "I  don't  know  him,  but 
I  know  of  him — everybody  does." 

Well,  everybody  did,  that's  a  fact,  and  the 
way  Marm  Bounderby  and  Maizie  was  togged 
out  at  the  supper-table  was  a  sin  and  a  shame. 
And  the  way  they  poured  gush  over  that  bald- 
headed  broker  was  enough  to  make  him  slip  out 
of  his  chair.  Talk  about  "fishers  of  men"! 
them  Bounderbys  was  a  whole  seiner's  crew  in 
themselves. 

But  what  surprised  me  was  Mabel  Seabury. 
She  was  dressed  up,  too;  not  in  the  Bounder 
bys'  style — collar-bones  and  diamonds — but  in 
plain  white  with  lace  fuzz.  If  she  wa'n't  peaches 
and  cream,  then  all  you  need  is  lettuce  to  make 
me  a  lobster  salad. 

And  she  was  as  nice  to  Van  as  if  he  was  old 
Deuteronomy  out  of  the  Bible.  He  set  down 
to  that  meal  with  a  face  on  him  like  a  pair  of 
nutcrackers,  and  afore  'twas  over  he  was  laugh 
ing  and  eating  apple  pie  and  telling  funny  yarns 
about  robbing  his  "friends"  in  .the  Street.  I 


284       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

judged  he'd  be  sorry  for  it  afore  morning,  but  I 
didn't  care  for  that.  I  was  kind  of  worried  my 
self;  didn't  understand  it. 

And  I  understood  it  less  and  less  as  the  days 
went  by.  If  she'd  been  Maizie  Bounderby,  with 
two  lines  in  each  hand  and  one  in  her  teeth, 
she  couldn't  have  done  more  to  hook  that  old 
stock-broker.  She  cooked  little  special  dishes 
for  his  dyspepsy  to  play  with,  and  set  with  him 
•on  the  piazza  evenings,  and  laughed  at  his  jokes, 
and  the  land  knows  what.  Inside  of  a  fortni't 
he  was  a  gone  goose,  which  wa'n't  surprising-r- 
every  other  man  being  in  the  same  fix — but  'twas 
surprising  to  see  her  helping  the  goneness  along. 
All  hands  was  watching  the  game,  of  course,  and 
it  pretty  nigh  started  a  mutiny  at  the  Old  Home. 
The  Bounderbys  packed  up  and  lit  out  in  ten 
days,  and  none  of  the  other  women  would  speak 
to  Mabel.  They  didn't  blame  poor  Mr.  Van, 
you  understand.  'Twas  all  her — "low,  design 
ing  thing!" 

And  Jonadab!  he  wa'n't  fit  to  live  with.  The 
third  forenoon  after  Van  Wedderburn  got  there 
he  come  around  and  took  the  quarter  bet.  And 
the  way  he  crowed  over  me  made  my  hands 
itch  for  a  rope's  end.  Finally  I  owned  up  to 
myself  that  I'd  made  a  mistake;'  the  girl  was 
a  whitewashed  tombstone  and  the  whitewash 


JONES? 


285 


was  rubbing  thin.  That  night  I  dropped  a  line 
to  poor  Jonesy  at  Providence,  telling  him  that, 
if  he  could  get  a  day  off,  maybe  he'd  better  come 
down  to  Wellmouth,  and  see  to  his  fences;  some 
body  was  feeding  cows  in  his  pasture. 


INSIDE  OF  A  FORTNIGHT  HE  WAS  A  GONE  GOOSE. 

The  next  day  was  Labor  Day,  and  what  was 
left  of  the  boarders  was  going  for  a  final  picnic 
over  to  Baker's  Grove  at  Ostable.  We  went, 
three  catboats  full  of  us,  and  Van  and  Mabel 
Seabury  was  in  the  same  boat.  We  made  the 


286       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

grove  all  right,  and  me  and  Jonadab  had  our 
hands  full,  baking  clams  and  chasing  spiders  out 
of  the  milk,  and  doing  all  the  chores  that  makes  a 
picnic  so  joyfully  miserable.  When  the  dinner 
dishes  was  washed  I  went  off  by  myself  to  a  quiet 
bunch  of  bayberry  bushes  half  a  mile  from  the 
grove  and  laid  down  to  rest,  being  beat  out. 

I  guess  I  fell  asleep,  and  what  woke  me  was 
somebody  speaking  close  by.  I  was  going  to 
get  up  and  clear  out,  not  being  in  the  habit  of 
listening  to  other  folks'  affairs,  but  the  very  first 
words  I  heard  showed  me  that  'twas  best,  for  the 
feelings  of  all  concerned,  to  lay  still  and  keep  on 
with  my  nap. 

"Oh,  no!"  says  Mabel  Seabury,  dreadful  ner 
vous  and  hurried-like;  "oh,  no!  Mr.  Van  Wed- 
derburn,  please  don't  say  any  more.  I  can't 
listen  to  you,  I'm  so  sorry." 

"  Do  you  mean  that — really  mean  it  ?  "  asks 
Van,  his  voice  rather  shaky  and  seemingly  a 
good  deal  upset.  "My  dear  young  lady,  I  real 
ize  that  I'm  twice  your  age  and  more,  and  I  sup 
pose  that  I  was  an  old  fool  to  hope;  but  I've  had 
trouble  lately,  and  I've  been  very  lonely,  and  you 
have  been  so  kind  that  I  thought — I  did  hope — 
I-  Can't  you  ?  " 

"No,"  says  she,  more  nervous  than  ever,  and 
•haky,  too,  but  decided.  "No!  Oh,  no!  It's 


JONESr  287 

all  my  fault.  I  wanted  you  to  like  me;  I  wanted 
you  to  like  me  very  much.  But  not  this  way. 
I'm — Pm — so  sorry.  Please  forgive  me." 

She  walked  on  then,  fast,  and  toward  the  grove, 
and  he  followed,  slashing  at  the  weeds  with  his 
cane,  and  acting  a  good  deal  as  if  he'd  like  to 
pick  up  his  playthings  and  go  home.  When 
they  was  out  of  sight  I  set  up  and  winked,  large 
and  comprehensive,  at  the  scenery.  It  looked 
to  me  like  I  was  going  to  collect  Jonadab's  quarter. 

That  night  as  I  passed  the  lilac  bushes  by 
the  gate,  somebody  steps  out  and  grabs  my 
arm.  I  jumped,  looked  up,  and  there,  glaring 
down  at  me  out  of  the  clouds,  was  friend  Jones 
from  Providence,  R.  I. 

"Wingate,"  he  whispers,  fierce,  "who  is  the 
man  ?  And  where  is  he  ?  " 

"Easy,"  I  begs.  "Easy  on  that  arm.  I 
might  want  to  use  it  again.  What  man  ?  ' 

"That  man  you  wrote  me  about.  Pve  come 
down  here  to  interview  him.  Confound  him! 
Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  now,"  says  I.  "There 
was  an  old  rooster  from  New  York  who  was 
acting  too  skittish  to  suit  me,  but  I  guess  it's  11 
off.  His  being  a  millionaire  and  a  stock-jobber 
was  what  scart  me  fust  along.  He's  a  hundred 
years  old  or  so;  name  of  Van  Wedderburn." 


288       THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

"  What?  '  he  says,  pinching  my  arm  till  I 
could  all  but  feel  his  thumb  and  finger  meet. 
"What?  Stop  joking.  I'm  not  funny  to-night." 

"It's  no  joke,"  says  I,  trying  to  put  my  arm 
together  again.  "Van  Wedderburn  is  his  name. 
'Course  you've  heard  of  him.  Why!  there  he 
is  now." 

Sure  enough,  there  was  Van,  standing  like  a 
statue  of  misery  on  the  front  porch  of  the  main 
hotel,  the  light  from  the  winder  shining  full  on 
him.  Jonesy  stared  and  stared. 

"Is  that  the  man  ?  "  he  says,  choking  up. 
"Was  he  sweet  on  Mabel  ?  " 

"Sweeter'n  a  molasses  stopper,"  says  I.  "But 
he's  going  away  in  a  day  or  so.  You  don't  need 
to  worry." 

He  commenced  to  laugh,  and  I  thought  he'd 
never  stop. 

"What's  the  joke?"  I  asks,  after  a  year  or 
so  of  this  foolishness.  "  Let  me  in,  won't  you  ? 
Thought  you  wa'n't  funny  to-night." 

He  stopped  long  enough  to  ask  one  more  ques 
tion.  "Tell  me,  for  the  Lord's  sake!"  says  he. 
"  Did  she  know  who  he  was  ?  ' 

"Sartin,"  says  I.  "So  did  every  other  woman 
round  the  place.  You'd  think  so  if— 

He  walked  off  then,  laughing  himself  into 
it  fct.  "Good  night,  old  man,"  he  says,  between 


JONESr  289 

spasms.  "See  you  later.  No,  I  don't  think  I 
shall  worry  much." 

If  he  hadn't  been  so  big  I  cal'lated  I'd  have 
risked  a  kick.  A  man  hates  to  be  made  a  fool 
of  and  not  know  why. 

A  whole  lot  of  the  boarders  had  gone  on  the 
evening  train,  and  at  our  house  Van  Wedder- 
burn  was  the  only  one  left.  He  and  Mabel  and 
me  was  the  full  crew  at  the  breakfast-table  the 
follering  morning.  The  fruit  season  was  a  quiet 
one.  I  done  all  the  talking  there  was;  every 
time  the  broker  and  the  housekeeper  looked  at 
each  other  they  turned  red. 

Finally  'twas  "chopped-hay"  time,  and  in 
comes  the  waiter  with  the  tray.  And  again  we 
had  a  surprise,  just  like  the  one  back  in  July. 
Percy  wa'n't  on  hand,  and  Jonesy  was. 

But  the  other  surprise  wa'n't  nothing  to  this 
one.  The  Seabury  girl  was  mightily  set  back, 
but  old  Van  was  paralyzed.  His  eyes  and  mouth 
opened  and  kept  on  opening. 

"Cereal,  sir  ?  "  asks  Jones,  polite  as  ever. 

"Why!  why,  you — you  rascal!"  hollers  Van 
Wedderburn.  "What  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"I  have  a  few  days'  vacation  from  my  posi 
tion  at  Providence,  sir,"  answers  Jones.  "I'm 
a  waiter  at  present." 

"Why,  Robert!"  exclaims  Mabel  Seabury. 


290        THE  "OLD  HOME  HOUSE" 

Van  swung  around  like  he  was  on  a  pivot 
"Do  you  know  him?  "  he  pants,  wild  as  a  coot, 
and  pointing. 

'Twas  the  waiter  himself  that  answered. 

"She  knows  me,  father,"  he  says.  "In  fact 
she  is  the  young  lady  I  told  you  about  last  spring; 
the  one  I  intend  to  marry." 

Did  you  ever  see  the  tide  go  out  over  the  flats  ? 
Well,  that's  the  way  the  red  slid  down  off  old 
Van's  bald  head  and  across  his  cheeks.  But  it 
came  back  again  like  an  earthquake  wave.  He 
turned  to  Mabel  once  more,  and  if  ever  there 
was  a  pleading  "Don't  tell"  in  a  man's  eyes, 
'twas  in  his. 

"  Cereal,  sir  ?  "  asks  Robert  Van  Wedderburn, 
alias  "Jonesy." 

Well,  I  guess  that's  about  all.  Van  Senior 
took  it  enough  sight  more  graceful  than  you'd 
expect,  under  the  circumstances.  He  went  straight 
up  to  his  room  and  never  showed  up  till  supper- 
time.  Then  he  marches  to  where  Mabel  and  his 
son  was,  on  the  porch,  and  says  he: 

"  Bob,"  he  says,  "  if  you  don't  marry  this  young 
lady  within  a  month  I'll  disown  you,  for  good 
this  time.  You've  got  more  sense  than  I  thought. 
Blessed  if  I  see  who  you  inherit  it  from!"  says 
he,  kind  of  to  himself. 

Jonadab   ain't  paid   me  the   quarter  yet.     He 


JONEST  291 

says  the  bet  was  that  she'd  land  a  millionaire, 
and  a  Van  Wedderburn,  afore  the  season  ended, 
and  she  did;  so  he  figgers  that  he  won  the  bet. 
Him  and  me  got  wedding  cards  a  week  ago,  so 
I  suppose  '"Jonesy"  and  Mabel  are  on  their 
honeymoon  now.  I  wonder  if  she's  ever  told  her 
husband  about  what  I  heard  in  the  bayberry 
bushes.  Being  the  gamest  sport,  for  a  woman, 
that  ever  I  see,  I'll  gamble  she  ain't  said  a  word 
about  it. 

(2) 


The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is 
that  of  reading.  IFhy  not  then 
own  the  books  of  great  novelists 
when  the  price  is  so  small 


fC  Of  all  the  amusements  which  can  possibly 
be  imagined  for  a  hard-working  man,  after 
his  dotty  toil,  or,  in  its  intervals,  there  is 
nothing  like  reading  an  entertaining  book. 
It  calls  for  no  bodily  exertion.  It  transports 
him  into  a  livelier,  and  gayer,  and  more  di 
versified  and  interesting  scene,  and  while  he 
enjoys  himself  there  he  may  forget  the  evils 
of  the  present  moment.  Nay,  it  accompanies 
him  to  his  next  day's  work,  and  gives  hint 
something  *,o  think  of  besides  the  'mere 
mechanical  drudgery  of  his  every-day  occu 
pation — something  he  can  enjoy  while  absent, 
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rAsk  your  dealer  for  a  list  of  the  titles 
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tertaining  and  instructive  reading 


THE   BEST  OF  RECENT   FICTION 

Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale,  The.    Frank  L,  Packard. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Affair  at  Flower  Acres,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Affinities  and  Other  Stories.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

After  House,  The.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Against  the  Winds,    Kate  Jordan. 

Alcatraz.     Max  Brand. 

Alias  Richard  Power.     William  Allison. 

All  the  Way  by  Water.    Elizabeth  Stancy  Payne, 

Amateur  Gentleman,  The.     Jeffery  Farnol. 

Amateur  Inn,  The.     Albert  Payson  Terhune. 

Anna  the  Adventuress.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Anne's  House  of  Dreams.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Anybody  But  Anne.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Are  All  Men  Alike,  and  The  Lost  Titian.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Around  Old  Chester.     Margaret  Deland. 

Arrant  Rover,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Athalie.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.     Augusta  Evana  Wilson. 

At  Sight  of  Gold.     Cynthia  LombardL 

Auction  Block,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky.     Eliza  C.  Hall. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Ritchie.     Margaret  Deland. 

Bab:  a  Sub-Deb.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

Bar  20.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar  20  Days.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar-20  Three.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Barrier,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Bart  of  Iron,  The.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Bat  Wing.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Beasts  of  Tarzan,  Th«.    Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Beautiful  and  Damned,  The.    F.  Scott  Fitzgerald. 

Beauty.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Behind  Locked  Doors.     Ernest  M.  Po*te. 

Bella  Donna.     Robert  Hichens.   (Photoplay  Ed.), 

Beloved  Traitor,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.     Wm.  J.  Locke. 

Beloved  Woman,  The.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Beltane  the  Smith.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Betrayal,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Beyond  the  Frontier.     Randall  Parrish. 

Big  Timber.     Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 

Black  Bartlemy's  Treasure.    Jeffery  Farnol 

Black  Buttes.     Clarence  E-  Mulford. 


Black  Catsar'a  Clan.    Albert  Payson  Terhune. 

Black  Gold.    Albert  Payson  Terhune. 

Black  IB  White.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Black  Oxen.    Gertrude  Atherton.    (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Blue  Circlev  The.    Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    Alfred  Olivant. 

Box  With  Broken  Seals,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheimo 

Brandon  of  the  Engineers.    Harold  Bindloss. 

Breaking  Point,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart, 

Bridge  of  Kisses.     Bert  a  Ruck. 

Bring  Me  His  Ears.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Broad  Highway,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Broken  Barriers.     Meredith  Nicholson. 

Brown  Study,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.    Clarence  E.  Mulford, 

Bush-Rancher,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Cabbages  and  King*.    O.  Henry. 
Cabin  Fever.    B.  M.  Bower. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.    HaroM  Bell  Wright* 
Cape  Cod  .Stories.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Eri.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Carnac's  Folly.     Gilbert  Parker. 
Cat's  Paw,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 
Cattle.    Winnifred  Eaton. 

Certain  People  of  Importance.     Kathleen  Norris. 
Chief  Legatee,  The.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Cinema  Murder,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
City  of  Lilies,  The.    Anthony  Pryde  and  R,  K.  Weehe*, 
City  of  Peril,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 
Clipped  Wings.     Rupert  Hughes. 
Clue  of  the  New  Pin,  The.    Edgar  Wallace. 
Colorado  Jim.     George  Goodchild. 
Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Coming  of  the  Law,  The.    Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 
Communicating  Door,  The.    Wadsworth  Camp. 
Comrades  of  Peril.    Randall  Parrish. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    Booth  Tarkington. 
Contraband.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 
Court  of  Inquiry,  A.   Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Crimson  Blotter,  The.    Isabel  Ostrander. 
Crimson   Gardenia*  The,   and   Other  Tales  of   Adventure, 
Rex  Beach. 


?HE   BEST  OF  RECEN^   FICTION 

Crimson  Tide,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Cross  Currents.    Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
Cross  Pull,  The.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cry  of  Youth,  A.     Cynthia  Lombard!. 
Cup  of  Fury,  The.     Rupert  Hughes. 
Curious  Quest,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Curved  Blades,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Cytherea.    Joseph  Hergesheimer. 

Damsel  in  Distress,  A.  Pelham  G.  Wodehotise. 

Dancing  Star,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Danger  and  Other  Stories.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Dark  Hollow.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Daughter  Pays,  The.    Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 

Depot  Master,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Desert  Healer,  The.    E.  M.  Hull. 

Destroying  Angel,  The.  Louis  Joseph  Vance.  (Photoplay  Ed.£ 

Devil's  Paw,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Diamond  Thieves,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Disturbing  Charm,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Dormegan.     George  Owen  Baxter. 

Door  of  Dread,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Doors  of  the  Night.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Dope.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Dust  of  the  Desert.     Robert  Welles  Ritchie. 

Empty  Hands.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Empty  Pockets.    Rupert  Hughes. 

Empty  Sack,  The.     Basil  King. 

Enchanted  Canyon.     Honore  Willsie. 

Enemies  of  Women.    V.  B.  Ibanez.  (Photoplay  Ed.%- 

Eris.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Erskine  Dale,  Pioneer.    John  Fox1,  Jr. 

Evil  Shepherd,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Extricating  Obadiah.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Eye  of  Zeitoon,  The.     Talbot  Mundy. 

Eyes  of  the  Blind.     Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

Eyes  of  the  World.    Harold  Bell  Wright 

Fair  Harbor.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Family.     Wayland  Wells  Williams. 

Fathoms  Deer>.     Elizabeth  Stancy  Payne. 

Feast  of  the  Lanterns*    Louise  Gordon  Mile. 

Fighting  Chance,  Th*    Robert  W.  Chambers 


flT     A      POPULAR      PRICE 

Fighting  Shepherdess,  The.    Caroline  Lockhart. 

Financier,  The.    Theodore  Dreiser- 

Fire  Tongue.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Flaming  Jewel,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers, 

Flowing  Gold.    Rex  Beach. 

Forbidden  Trail,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 

Forfeit,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Four  Million,  The.     O.  Henry. 

Foursquare.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Four  Stragglers,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Free  Range  Lanning.     George  Owen  Baxter, 

From  Now  On.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

FW  Bringers,  The.     Hulbert  Footner. 

Further  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale.    Frank  L.  Packard, 

Galusha  the  Magnificent.    Joseph  ;C.  Lincoln. 

Gaspards  of  Pine  Croft,  The.    Ralph  Connor. 

Gay  Year,  The.    Dorothy  Speare. 

Gift  of  the  Desert.    Randall  Parrish. 

Girl  in  the  Mirror,  The.    Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Girl  from  Kellers,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Girl  Philippa,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Girls  at  His  Billet,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Glory)  Rides  the  Range.     Ethel  and  James  Borrance. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

God's  Good  Man.     Marie  Correlli. 

Going  Some.    Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Gold-Killer.    John  Prosper. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Golden  Slipper,  The.     Anna  Katharine  Greefi, 

Golden  Woman,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Gray  Phantom,  The.     Herman  Landon. 

Gray  Phantom's  Return,  The.     Herman  Landon. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheini, 

Great  Prince  Shan,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Green  Goddess,  The.    Louise  Jordan  Miln.    (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Greyfriars  Bobby.    Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Gun  Runner,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Guns  of  the  Gods.    Talbot  Mundy. 

Hand  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmef. 

Hand  of  Peril,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 


THE   BEST   OF   RECENT   FICTION1 

Harbor  Road,  The.    Sara  Ware  Bassett 

Harriet  and  the  Piper.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Havoc.     E.   Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe,  The.      France*    Hodgsoi; 

Burnett. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    Honor£  Willsie. 
Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    John  Fox,  Jr. 
Heart  of  the  Range,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 
Heart  of  the  Sunset.    Rex  Beach. 
Heart  of  Unaga,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Helen  of  the  Old  House.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 
Hidden  Places,  The.    Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 
Hidden  Trails.     William  Patterson  White. 
Hillman,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Hira  Singh.     Talbot  Mundy. 
Hi»  Last  Bow.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 
His  Official  Fiancee.    Berta  Ruck. 
Homeland.    "Margaret   Hill  McCarter. 
Homestead  Ranch.     Elizabeth  G.  Young. 
Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong  Cassidy.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Hound  from  the  North,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.  Anna  Katharine  Greeu 
Humoresque.    (Fannie  Hurst. 
Illustrious  Prince,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.    Berta  Ruck. 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Infelice.    Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 
Initials  Only.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Innocent.    Marie  Corelli. 

Innocent  Adventuress,  The.    Mary  Hastings  Bradley. 
Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 
In  the  Brooding  Wild.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
In  the  Onyx  Lobby.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Iron  Trail,  The.    Rex  Beach. 
Iron  Woman,  The.    Margaret  Beland. 
IshmaeL     (111.)     Mrs.  Southworth. 
Isle  of  Retribution.     Edison  Marshall. 
I've  Married  Marjorie.     Margaret  Widdemer. 
Ivory  Trail,  The.    Talbot  Mundy. 
Jacob's  Ladder.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    B.  M.  Bower. 
Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    E.  Phillips  Oppenhei*!, 
Jeeves.     P.  G.  Wodehouse. 


AT     A      POPULAR      PRICE 

Jimmie  Dale  and  the  Phantom  Clew.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

ohnny  Nelson.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

oseph  Greer  and  His  Daughter.     Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

udith  of  the  Godless  Valley.  Honore  Willsie. 
Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    Ethel  M.  DelL 
Keith  of  the  Border.     Randall  Parrish. 
Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
King  of  Kearsarge.    Arthur  O.  Friel. 
King  of  the  Khyber  Rifle*.    Talbot  Mundy. 
King  Spruce.    Holman  Day. 
Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    Ethel  M.  Belt 
Land-Girl's  Love  Story,  A.    Berta  Ruck. 
Land  of  Strong  Men,  The.    A.  M.  Chisholm. 
Laramie  Holds  the  Range.    Frank  H.  Spearman. 
Last  Trail,  The.    Zane  Grey. 
Laughing  Bill  Hyde.    Rex  Beach. 
Laughing  Girl,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Law  Breakers,,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Law  of  the  Gun,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Leavenworth  Case,  The.    Anna  Katherine  Green.   (Photoplay 

Edition). 

Light  That  Failed,  The.     Rudyard  Kipling.  (Photoplay  Ed.)- 
Lighted  Way,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lin  McLean.     Owen  Wister. 
Lister's  Great  Adventure.     Harold  Bindloss. 
Little   Moment  of   Happiness,    The.      Clarence     Budingtoo 

Kelland. 

Little  Red  Foot,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Little  Warrior,  The.    Pelham  Grenville  Wodehouse. 
Lonely  Warrior,  The.    Claude  C.  Washburn. 
Lonesome  Land.    B.  M.  Bower. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Live  the  King.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart.   (Photoplay 

Edition). 

Lost  Ambassador.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Discovery,  The.    Baillie  Reynolds. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 
Lost  World,  The.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Luck  of  the  Kid,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Lucretia  Lombard,  Kathleen  Norris. 
Luminous  Face,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Lydia  of  the  Pines.    Honore  Willsie. 


THE   BEST   OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Lynch  Lawyers.    William  Patterson  White. 

McCarty  Incog.    Isabel  Ostrandcr. 

Major,  The.     Ralph  Connor. 

Maker  of  History,  A.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Malefactor,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Man  and  Maid.    Elinor  Glyn. 

Man  from  Bar  20,  The.    'Clarence  E.  .Mulford. 

Man  from  the  Bitter  Roots,  The.    Caroline  Lockhart. 

Man  in  the  Moonlight,  The.    Rupert  S.  Holland. 

Man  in  the  Twilight,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum, 

Man  Killers,  The.     Dane  Coolidge. 

Man  Who  Couldn't  Sleep,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Man's  Country.    Peter  Clark  Macfarlane. 

Marqueray's  Duel.     Anthony  Pryde. 

Martin  Conisby's  Vengeance.    Jeffery  Farno!, 

Mary-Gusta.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mary  Wollaston.    Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Mason  of  Bar  X  Ranch.    H.  Bennett. 

Master  of  Man.    Hall  Caine. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    A  Conan  Doyle. 

Men  Who  Wrought,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Meredith  Mystery,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Midnight  of  the  Ranges.     George  Gilbert. 

Mine  with  the  Iron  Door,  The.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Missioner,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Million's  Maid.    Berta  Ruck. 

Money,  Love  and  Kate.    Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Money  Master,  The.     Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Moonlit  Way,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

More  Limehouse  Nights.    Thomas  Burke. 

More  Tish.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Moreton  Mystery,  The.    Elizabeth  Dejeans. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sen.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheioi, 

Mr.  Pratt.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Mr.  Wu.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.    Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    Randall  Parish. 

Mystery  Girl,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 


AT     A      POPUL'AR      PRIC$ 

Mystery  of  the  Hasty  Arrow,  The.    Anna  K.  Green. 

Mystery  of  the  Silver  Dagger,  The.    Randall  Parrish. 

Nameless  River.    Vingie  E.  Roe. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    Rex  Beach.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Net,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Never  Fail  Blake.    Arthur  Stringer, 

Next  Corner,  The.    Kate  Jordan. 

Nightfall.    Anthony  Pryde. 

Night  Horseman,  The.    Max  Brand, 

Night  of  the  Wedding,  The.     C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson* 

Night  Operator,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Night  Riders,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Nine  Unknown,  The.     Talbot  Mundy. 

Nobody's  Man.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

No  Defence.     Gilbert  Parker. 

North.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Obstacle  Race,  The.    Ethel  M.  ©ell. 

Odds.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Old  Misery.     Hugh  Pendexter. 

Omoo.     Herman  Melville. 

One  Thing  Is  Certain.    Sophie  Kerf.    . 

One-Way  Trail,  The.    Ridgwell  Culltmi, 

Ordeal  of  Honor,  An.    Anthony  Pryde. 

Outlaw,  The.    Jackson  Gregory. 

Owner  of  the  Lazy  D.    William  Patterson  White. 

Panelled  Room,  The.     Rupert  Sargent  Holland. 

Paradise  Bend.    William  Patterson  White. 

Pardners,    Rex  Beach. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Patricia  Brent,   Spinster.     Anonymous. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.    Ralph  Conn*r. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.    Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Pawned,    Frank  L.  Packard. 

"Pawns  Count,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Pay  GraveL     Hugh  Pendexter. 

Peacemakers,  The.     Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Peregrine's  Progress.     Jeffery  Farnoll. 

Peter  Ruff  and  the  Double  Four.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Phantom  Wires.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Pointed  Tower,  The.    Vance  Thompson. 

Pollyanna;  "The  Glad  Book."    Eleanor  H.  Porter.  (Lim.  Ed.). 

Trade  Mark— Trade-Mark. 
Poor  Man's  Rock.    Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 

Wise  Man,  A.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 


THE   BEST  OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Poisoned  Paradise,  The.  Robert  W.  Service,  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Portygee,    The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Possession.    Olive  Wadsley. 

Postmaster,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Prairie  Child,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Flowers.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Prairie  Mother,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Pretender,  The.    Robert  W.  Service. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Prodigal  Daughters,  The.    Joseph  Hocking.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Prodigal  Son,     Hall  Caine.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Profiteers,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Promise,  The.    J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Public  Square,  The.    Will  Levington  Comfort 

Purple  Mask,  The.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Purple  Pearl,  The.    Anthony  Pryde. 

Quemado.    William  West  Winter. 

Quest  of  the  Sacred  Slipper,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Quill's  Window.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rainbow's  End,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Rainbow  Valley.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Ramshackle  House.    Hulbert  Footner. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.    B.  M.  Bower. 

Ranching  for  Sylvia.    Harold  Bindloss. 

Rangy  Pete.  Guy  Morton. 

Raspberry  Jam.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Reclaimers,  The.    'Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Re-Creation  of  Brian  Kent,  The.     Harold  Bell  Wright, 

Red  and  Black.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Pepper's  Patients.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Seal,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Restless  Sex,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Return  of  Frank  Clamart,  The.     Henry  C.  Rowland. 

Return  of  Tarzan  The.    Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame-  The.    M.  E.  and  T.  W.  Hanshew. 

Riddle  of  the  Mysterious  Light  The.     M.   E.  and  T.    W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  the  Purple  Emperor  The,      M.   E.   and  T.   W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle   of  the  Spinning  Wheel,  The,     M.    E.   and  T.   W. 

Hanshew. 


<A  T     %      P'OPUL  "A  R      PRI  "C  E 

Rider  of  the  Golden  Bar,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 

Rider  of  the  King  Log,  The.    Holman  Bay. 

Rider  o*  the  Stars.    R.  J.  Horton.  f 

Riders  of  the  Silences.    John  Frederick. 

Rilla  of  Ingleside.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Rimrock  Trail.    J.  Allan  Dunn. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. , 

River  Trail,  The.    Laurie  Y.  Erskine. 

Robin,     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rogues  of  the  North.    Albert  M.  Treynor. 

Romance  of  a  Million  Dollars,  The.    Elizabeth  Dejeans. 

Rosa  Mundi.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rose  of  Santa  Fe,  The.    Edwin  L.  Sabin. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Round-Up,  The.    Oscar  J.  Friend. 

Rung  Ho!    Talbot  Mundy. 

Rustler  of  Wind  River,  The.       G.  W.  Ogdea. 

St  Elmo.  (111.    Ed.)  Augusta  J.  Evans, 

Sand,    Olive  Wadsley. 

Scarlet  Iris,  The.    Vance  Thompson. 

Scattergood  Baines.     Clarence  Budingtori  Kelland, 

Second  Violin,  The.    Grace  S.  Richmond, 

Secret  Power,  The.    Marie  CorellK 

Self-Raised.   (111).     Mrs.  SouthwortK. 

Settling  of  the  Sage.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 

Seven  Ages  of  Woman,  The.    Compton  Mackenzie. 

Seven  Darlings,  The.    Gouverneur  Morris. 

Seventh  Man,  The.    Max  Brand. 

Shadow  of  the  East,  The.    E.  M.  Hull.    (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Shadow  on  the  Glass,  The.    Charles  J.  Dutton. 

Shavings.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Sheik,  The.     E.  M.  Hull. 

Sheila  of  Big  Wreck  Cove.    James  H.  Cooper. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Shepherds  of  the  Wild.     Edison  Marshall. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sherry.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Shoe-Bar  Stratton.    Joseph  B.  Ames. 

Sight  Unseen,  and  The  Confession,    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart, 

Silver  Horde,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Silver  Poppy,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Singing  Bone,  The.     R.  Austin  Freeman. 

Singing  Wells,  The.    Roland  Pertwee, 


VEST  OF  RECENT  FICTION 

Sinister  Mark,  The.    Lee  Thayer. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Sir  or  Madam.     Berta  Ruck. 

Sisters-in-Law.     Gertrude  Atherton. 

Sky  Line  of  Spruce.     Edison  Marshall. 

Slayer  of  Souls,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Smiles:  A  Rose  of  the  Cumberland^.    Eliot  H.  Robinson, 

Snowdrift.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Snowshoe  Trail,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

6on  of  Tarzan,  The.    Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Souls  for  Sale.    Rupert  Hug-hes.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    Zane  Grey.     (New  Edition). 

Spirit-of-Iron.    Harwood  Steele. 

Spoilers,  The.    Rex  Beach.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Spoilers  of  the  Valley,  The.    Robert  Watson. 

Star  Dust     Fannie  Hurst. 

Steele  of  the  Royal  Mounted.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Step  on  the  Stair,  The.    Anna  Katherine  Green. 

Still  Jim.     Honore  Willsie. 

Story  of  Foss  River  Ranch,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Story  of  Marco,  The.     Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Strange  Case  of  Cavendish,  The.    Randall  Parrish. 

Strawberry  Acres.     Grace  S.  Richmond* 

Strength  of  the  Pines,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Subconscious  Courtship,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Substitute  Millionaire,  The.     Hulbert  Footner. 

Sudden  Jim.    Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Sweethearts  Unmet.     Berta  Ruck. 

Sweet  Stranger.    Berta  Ruck. 

Tales  of  Chinatown.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Secret  Egypt    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes,     A.  Conan  Boyle. 

Talkers,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Talisman,  The.    Sir  Walter  Scott.  (Photoplay  Ed.).  Screened 

as  Richard  the  Lion  Hearted. 
Taming  of  Zenas  Henry,  The.    Sara  Ware  Basset 
Tarzan  of  the  Apes.     Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Tarzan  and  the  Jewels  of  Opar.     Edgar  Rice  Burrougna. 
Tattooed  Arm,  The.    Isabel  Ostrander. 
Tempting  of  Tavernake,  The,     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Teas  of  the  DTJrbervilles.    Thomas  Hardy.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 
Tex.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 


g  T      A      POPULAR      PRICE 

Texan,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

ThankfuTs  Inheritance.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Affair  at  "The  Cedars."  Lee  Thayer. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Their  Yesterdays.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Thief  of  Bagdad,  The.    Achmed  Abdullah.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Thieves'  Wit.    Hulbert!  Footner. 

Thirteenth  Commandment,  The.     Rupert  Hughes, 

This  Side  of  Paradise.     F.  Scott  Fitzgerald. 

Thoroughbred,  The.    Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Thread  of  Flame,  The.    Basil  King. 

Three  Black  Bags.     Marion  Polk  Angelloti. 

Three  Men  and  a  Maid.    P.  G.  Wodehouse. 

Three  Musketeers,  The.     Alexander  Dumas. 

Three  of  Hearts,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Through  the  Shadows  with  O.  Henry.     AI.  Jennings. 

Thunderbolt,  The.    Clyde  Perrin. 

Timber.     Harold  Titus. 

Timber  Pirate.     Charles  Christopher  Jenkins. 

Tish.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

To  Him  That  Hath.     Ralph  Connor. 

Toilers  of  the  Sea,  The.    Victor  Hugo.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Toll  of  the  Sands.     Paul  Delaney. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Trailin*.     Max  Brand. 

Trail  to  Yesterday,  The.    Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    Marie  Corelli. 

Trigger  of  Conscience,  The.    Robert  Orr  Chipperfield. 

Triumph  of  John  Kars,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Triumph  of  the  Scarlet  Pimpernel,  The.    Baroness  Orczy0 

Trodden  Gold.     Howard  Vincent  O'Brien. 

Trooper  O'Neill.     George  Goodchild. 

Trouble  at  the  Pinelands,  The.    Ernest  M.  Porter. 

T.  Tembarom.     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

fTumbleweeds.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 

Turn  of  the  Tide.    Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Twenty-fourth  of  June.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Two-Gun  Man,  The.     Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Two-Gun  Man,  The.     Robert  Ames  Bennet. 

Two-Gun  Sue.    Douglas  Grant. 

Type*.     Herman   Melville. 

fTyrrel  of  the  Cow  Country.    Robert  Ames  Bennet, 

Under  Handicap.    Jackson  Gregory. 


THE   BEST  OF  DECENT   FICTION 

Under  the  Country  Sky.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Uneasy  Street.     Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

Unlatched  Door,  The.     Lee  Thayer. 

Unpardonable  Shi,  The.     Major  Rupert  Hughe*, 

Unseen  Ear,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Untamed,  The.     Max  Brand. 

Up  and  Coming.     Nalbro   Bartley. 

Up  From  Slavery.     Booker  T.  Washington. 

Ursula  Trent.    W.  L.  George. 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The.    Hallie  Erminie  Rhres. 

Valley  of  Content,  The.     Blanche  Upright. 

Valley  of  Fear,  The.    Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Valley  of  Gold,  The.    David  Howarth. 

Valley  of  the  Sun,  The.    William  M.  McCoy. 

Vandemark's  Folly.     Herbert  Quick. 

Vanguards  of  the  Plains.     Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Vanished  Messenger,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Vanishing  of  Betty  Varian,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Vanity  Fair.     Wm.  M.  Thackeray.   (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Vashti.    Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Viola  Gwyn.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley.    Mary  Ellen  Chase. 

Virtuous  Wives.    Owen  Johnson. 

Voice  of  the  Pack,  The.    Edison  Marshall. 

Wagon  Wheel,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 

Wall  Between,  The.     Sara,  Ware  Bassett 

Wall  of  Men,  A.    Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Wasted  Generation,  The.    Owen  Johnson. 

Watchers  of  the  Pianos,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way  of  an  Eagle,  The.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Way  of  the  Strong,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way  of  These  Women,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

We  Can't  Have  Everything.    Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Weavers,  The.     Gilbert  Parker. 

West  Broadway.     Nina  Wilcox  Putnam. 

West  Wind  Drift     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

What's  the  World  Coming  To?     Rupert  Hughes. 

What  Will  People  Say?  Rupert  Hughes. 

Wheels  Within  Wheels.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Whelps  of  the  Wolf,  The.    George  Marsh. 

When  a  Man's  a  Man.    Harold  Bell  Wright.  (Photoplay  EA>. 

When  Egypt  Went  Broke.    Holman  Bay. 

Where  the  Sun  Swings  North.     Barnett  Willoughby. 

Where  There's  a  Will.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 


AT     A      POPULAR      PRTCE 

Whispering  Sage.     Henry  Sinclair  Drago  and  Joseph   Noel 

White  Jacket     Herman  Melville. 

White  Moll,  The.     Frank  L,  Packard. 

Why  Not.     Margaret  Widdemer. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Winds  of  Chance,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Winds  of  the  World,  The.    Talbot  Mundy. 

Wine  of  Life,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Winning  the  Wilderness.     Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Wire  Devils,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Wire  Tappers,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Wishing  Ring  Man,  The.     Margaret  Widdemer. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Within  These  Walls.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Wolfville.    Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Woman  from  "Outside,"  The.    Hulbert  Footner. 

Woman  Gives,  The.     Owen  Johnson. 

Woman  Haters,  The.    Joseph  'C.  Lincoln. 

Woman  of  Knockaloe,  The.     Hall  Caine. 

Woman  Thou  Gavest  Me,  The.     Hall  Caine. 

Woodcarver  of  'Lympus,  The.    Mary  E.  Waller. 

Wooing  of  Rosamond  Fayre,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Wrong  Mr.  Right,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Year  of  Delight.    Margaret  Widdemer. 

Years  for  Rachel,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Yellow  Claw,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Yellow  Horde,  The.     Hal  G.  Evarts. 

You're  Only  Young  Once.    Margaret  Widdemer. 

Zeppelin's  Passenger,  The,    £.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 


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